


A Denny's in Drywell, Missouri

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings in Chapter Notes, Aged-Up Character(s), Arguing, Canon Era, Denny's, Gen, Leaving Home, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Canon, Starting Over, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bobby tries to make one step towards breaking his cycle of abuse and oleander tries to help, but not until oleander and bobby have a long talk in denny's and shout at each other, more like shouting contest, violence warning applies for the second and third chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Oleander receives a call from a former camper ready to fall off the edge.





	1. Chapter 1

“Smartphones,” Oleander mumbled, “who needs 'em? Not me. The forms don't even work half the time on the little screen. Can't even punch in the right letters with these stubby fingers.”

His grumbling was self-contained, but he had a reason to be upset. The newly released smartphones eluded him. Milla and Sasha had quickly picked up on them for their paperwork, but he preferred the classic style of pen and paper. All he had to do was write down his information, and if he made a mistake, a dab of White-Out and a bit of waiting would fix it. Then, he simply handed in the forms to the proper personnel, and he was done until the next batch was shoved into his office. 

Using smartphones to scan and upload documents aggravated him. It was too technical, and he felt like he was making countless mistakes. Hitting a wrong key, deleting an entire sentence, or going back to a previous page and somehow deleting the forms, it sent him to the moon and back. Milla had been kind enough to help when he received the forms through a text message from upper management, but he insisted on working the old-fashioned way after he dropped his phone and cracked the screen. 

Signing off on new recruits and updating information about current cadets gave him a sense of accomplishment, which overshadowed his annoyance. He flipped through the documents, grinning when he spotted familiar names. Knowing his past cadets were still continuing on in hopes of becoming great Psychonauts always made him smile. Phoebe and Quentin's advanced internship training was going smoothly according to the report he skimmed through. Mikhail had started his official position as a field agent, his first mission already underway in his hometown. Even cadets who had taken some time away from the agency were returning, his grin pressing into his cheeks when he read that Elka was coming back in the winter to continue her internship after some much-needed therapy because of her parents' messy divorce.

Setting those papers aside, he leaned back in his leather chair. If he had been confined to a desk job just a few years ago, he would have been livid. He would have claimed the Psychonauts were throwing him away. Maybe he would have even tried taking over the world again, a notion that made him shake his head and chuckle. 

Since it was the middle of autumn and the camps were closed until winter break, he had taken a position overseeing the interns at the Motherlobe. It was mostly paperwork and helping them find their best fit within the agency. During the times when he could watch his cadets train and fight, acting like a real drill sergeant when he taught his Advanced Basic Braining for Astral Warrior Interns class, Oleander felt like he was in his prime again.

At the end of the day, he finished his paperwork and stretched his crooked back. He checked the alarm clock on his desk, the bright red lights flashing 6 o'clock on the dot. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had been so focused on paperwork that he had forgotten to eat lunch. Pushing out his chair, he shuffled the papers and slipped them into marked manila folders, sorting them in his desk drawers afterwards. 

Knowing his workload was done, Oleander wondered what Sasha and Milla were doing. He suspected the egghead was pacing back and forth in his lab, Sheegor lumbering behind him. They were probably performing some crazy experiment on a poor, unsuspecting intern. Milla was always bouncing around HQ when she wasn't meditating in her office. She was the social butterfly of the Psychonauts, but since it was only Tuesday night, she was probably finishing up her mediation, and Oleander decided to ask her if she wanted to get dinner with him.

Setting his fingers to his temple, he was about to send her a telepathic message when something vibrated in the stillness of his office.

He jerked his attention to the bottom right drawer of his desk. It had been a while since it had been opened, but it was certainly buzzing. The old wood jostled, courtesy of Oleander slamming it shut for years and making it ill fit. Every few seconds came a vibration which made him stand at attention. Bending down, he yanked the drawer right out of the desk, a tiny tornado of dust hitting him in the face. Grimacing, he waved the particles out of his eyes and slammed the drawer on the table, his jaw clenched tight as he reached for the lone object inside.

It was a flip phone. Rounded and black, it was a model considered antique in the age of smartphones. Oleander charged it every week in case anyone would call. As it continued to buzz in his hand, the upbeat tune from All Paul should have filled him with positive energy, but only anxiety bubbled in his stomach as the fourth vibration caused the phone to shudder against his palm. He flipped it open with his thumb and grunted at the number flashing across the screen, disappointment seizing him when realized it was no one he knew.

He only had certain numbers in that phone. Unless it was a prank call or a telemarketer, only specific people should have had that number. Hitting the call button, he raised the phone to his ear and said, “Hello? Coach Oleander speaking.”

“Don't pick up, don't- H-huh? Oh! Oh, shit, you picked up. You actually picked up.”

Oleander's eyes bulged so far and so wide in his skull that his glass eye could have popped out. With a lisp that had mostly been corrected, he almost didn't recognize the caller. Their voice was deeper than he remembered, but there was still the faintest hint of a nasally tone that had once laughed in his face.

“Bobby? Bobby Zilch?” Oleander hurried back into his seat, too shocked to keep standing.

“Yeah, yeah, it's me.” He heard Bobby clearing his throat. “So, uh, what's up an' stuff?”

“I-” Oleander also cleared his throat. “I'm doing well. What about you? I haven't heard from you-”

“In about four years, yeah, yeah, I know.” He sounded hurried, his tone suddenly quieter.

“Last time I heard from you was in Whispering Rock.” He rubbed his thumb against his palm, his gaze shifting around his office.

Bobby sounded like he spit something out. “Yeah, no shit. Laughed in your face about that stupid-I mean, about that internship.”

Oleander furrowed his brows. He rested his elbows on his desk and asked, “Are you doing alright, soldier? I never expected you to call me like this out of the blue. In fact, I never expected for you to call me at all.”

“Yeah, well, I-what the-?” It came out as a yelp, like a cymbal crashing out of tune. The call died for a few moments. The only sound Oleander could pick up was Bobby's breathing. Oleander clenched his fist and heard footsteps shuffling around somewhere in the background, Bobby beginning to mutter curses under his breath.

“Bobby? Hey, Bobby, are you alright?” Oleander asked, his tone gentle, as if he was talking to a particularly small bunny.

Uttering a groan, Bobby spat, “I, uh, fuck! Gimme a minute!”

Something crashed on the other end, and Oleander jerked the phone away from his ear. He stared at it, the numbers searing through his retinas. Swallowing, he placed the phone back to his head and strained himself to hear every sound on the other end.

Someone sounded like they were jogging around a small room. He believed it was Bobby, but he couldn't be sure. If his tone had been quiet for a bit, then Oleander assumed he wasn't alone. Things zipped and unzipped. Swears upon swears were bellowed with such force that it would have made a nun blush, and even Oleander felt a hint of pink color his cheeks.

“Is the internship-? Is it-?” Bobby gasped, sharper than a blade, and Oleander gripped the phone even tighter. He coughed, hacking up something before shouting, “Is it open? Is it still, ya know, open? Happening? Goin' on? Huh?”

The obvious answer was no. That internship was meant for him when he was thirteen. Bobby had improved tremendously during his last year at Whispering Rock. He jumped two full ranks and could have rivaled Mikhail with his prowess. Such an improvement earned him a rewarding internship with room and board, a meal plan, and security for the rest of his life. It was the best that Oleander could offer along with a letter of recommendation, the strongest internship that he could have given out to any Whispering Rock graduate.

But Bobby laughed in his face. His spit hit Oleander square in the eye through his mangled teeth. He howled and pointed, sneering that he would never be a Psychonaut, that the Psychonauts were stupid. Claiming that no one could control him or boss him around, he left Oleander with a middle finger pointed at the sky, and Oleander saw red, held back only by Milla coaxing him that Bobby would come around and accept it by the time camp ended.

Bobby never took it. He left Whispering Rock and never looked back.

“Is is still happening?” Oleander dipped his head. “Yeah. It's still happening.”

Bobby's breathed hitched. “It is? Seriously? You're not pullin' my leg, are ya?” A growl rose in his throat, which made Oleander's skin crawl. “You better not be.”

“No, no,” he said too quickly. Pulling at his collar, Oleander shifted in his seat. “I mean, of course I can get you in an internship. You'd, well, you'd start out with some of the younger interns. You're seventeen, now, right?” He glanced at an All Paul calendar hanging on his door. “I think your birthday was a month ago.”

A confused hum echoed on the other end. “You remember how old I am? Wait, hold on.”

Oleander tugged at his lapel. He wasn't sure if he should alert Milla or Sasha. Milla would have been delighted to hear from her any of her old cadets, especially since Bobby was one of her best pupils. In Bobby's last year at camp, his smile seemed genuine when Oleander popped his head into Milla's class to check on the campers. Finishing races in first place, levitating without the use of a ball, combining his levitation with pyrokinesis or PSI blasts in the few combat classes she taught, he had been the star of her parties during his final year at Whispering Rock.

But what always caught Oleander off guard was when he spotted Bobby and Chloe together in some corner of Milla's mind. He taught her levitation while Milla was busy with some other Tender Brains. How to keep her levitation ball from vanishing, teaching her how much weight was needed to propel herself forward, and even the best way to grip the ball when she was floating, he did it all with a grin on his face. Bobby would have mocked anyone else for their missteps or when the ball vanished under their feet. He had done it to Clem and Crystal multiple times, sometimes being the source of why they tripped flat on their face and needed to retake Milla's race.

Not once did he interfere with Chloe. She was the only exception. Oleander wondered if they still kept in touch four years later and hoped they did for Bobby's sake.

“Fuck!”

Bobby's harsh shout speared through his ear. He flinched, his fingers slipping from the phone. Fumbling as it bounced between his palms, he heaved a sigh of relief when the phone didn't shut on itself. Raising it back to his ear, he gulped when he heard Bobby gasping, quickly followed by the sound of something slamming onto the ground.

“H-hey, hey! Bobby! Are you alright?” he sputtered, his heart thundering in his chest. He felt like he almost couldn't breathe, anxiety stewing in his stomach, and his hunger only made it worse.

“I-I-! Damnit!” Bobby sighed, his tone much lower. “Look, I, uh-”

Bobby stumbled over his words. Oleander could only remember one time when he fumbled to speak, and it made his chest feel like his ribs were squeezing his organs. He remembered locking him in GPC for hours for his severe misbehavior, and that stricken look on Bobby's face when he was finally released stayed with him for weeks afterwards. Whatever expression Bobby was making on the other end, Oleander feared it was the same pale complexion, wide eyes, and chattering teeth.

“Bobby,” Oleander began, cutting through his groaning, “where are you right now?”

“M-my house.” Bobby scoffed. “Drywell. Fuckin' Drywell.”

“Can I meet you now? You sound stressed. I can teleport to you. I might not make it exactly there, but I'll be there before you know it.” He paused at his own offer. It came out without him really understanding what he was doing. All he knew was that his former cadet sounded like he was in danger, and his instincts took over.

Bobby didn't answer. All noise on the other end ceased. Oleander could only hear his own blood rushing between his ears.

“Right...right now?” Bobby asked, a rare softness in his tone, a sharp contrast to the gruffness in his voice. “I can-I mean, I-there's a Denny's.”

Oleander wrinkled his nose, asking, “'Denny's?' What about Denny's?”

“There's a Denny's here. It's the only restaurant in Drywell. Meet me there in a half hour, got it?”

The dial tone startled him when it suddenly buzzed. Pulling the phone away, he stared at the call time blinking back at him before pushing the home button. Sighing, he hunched forward and rubbed his temples, wondering what kind of mess Bobby Zilch had gotten himself into this time. He knew that he spent more time in the cooler than in school, but that frenetic phone call filled with thrashing noises left his heart rattling in his chest and his mind wandering to the dark places Bobby may have visited.

Easing himself off his chair, he pocketed both his flip phone and smartphone. He had a hunch he would be needing both. Smoothing down his collar and medals, he set his fingers to his temples, concentrated, and off he vanished in the blink of an eye.

(In the darkness of his room, Bobby stared down at his phone, his eyes wide, his lips drawn in a thin, tight line as he realized what he had done.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read!! this chapter has severe implications and scenes of grooming and abuse. it's written in a way that severely criticizes it and does not glorify it, but it may be uncomfortable to read!! there is a scene where a twenty-year-old woman abuses bobby, seventeen, in a way that some may find very uncomfortable to read, and i absolutely do not condone it! there is some inappropriate touching, but it is not graphic and quickly shot down by oleander. i also bumped the rating up due to those scenes and scenes that will feature in the last chapter.

Oleander didn't end up where he wanted. In his disarray, he over shot the trajectory and teleported a few miles outside of Drywell. Ending up on the side of a dirt road with rows and rows of corn surrounding him certainly hadn't been what he expected, nor did he anticipate the plethora of cows leering at him from the other side of the pasture, beginning to slowly stalk towards him.

Though, he was fortunate. One of the farmers on the lot recognized him as a Psychonaut. She said she was a big fan of True Psychic Tales and collected every issue. She even recalled his first publicized adventure in #312, which featured Oleander on a solo mission in the Bronx to take down a cult leader brainwashing the locals. That had been one of his favorite missions, despite being drawn much taller than he actually was, and he beamed with pride at her compliments, accepting the ride she offered to help him get to Drywell.

As she drove, the roads eventually becoming bumpy, dirt paths. She asked why he wanted to go to “a rundown place like Drywell.” He said he was visiting an old cadet. That made her pretty hazel eyes widen. She looked at him as if he was a ghost materializing in her passenger seat, but she quickly shook her head and focused on the road, the unknown implication of her shock leaving a fluttering feeling in Oleander's chest.

He watched the farmland mesh into a wasteland. Rich green grass became limp, gray, and brown. The sky, which had just been a bright blue, darkened. Endless clouds hung over Drywell, and the farmer said that it was probably from all the drugs smoked out in the open. They didn't bother hiding their addictions, she added. The air smelled oddly rustic as if copper had mixed with oxygen, and he rolled the window up when it made his stomach lurch, avoiding the blank stares of men and women sitting on rotten tree stumps as they passed, holding needles and weed, sometimes both in quivering hands streaked with engorged veins.

He directed his attention to the rundown trailers. Each of them became caricatures of poverty as the Denny's came closer. The metal exteriors rotted, dyed in a bright brown hue and reminded him of the bad sunburn Sasha got at camp last year. Doors hardly stuck to their hinges, giving him glimpses of miserable lives inside. He saw a child clad only in a diaper scamper by one of those doors, her mother hot on her heels to snatch her pigtails, and his heart skipped a beat as they vanished from his sight, but he heard that little girl scream with all of her anguished might. 

“That's just how they are,” the farmer said, shaking her head. “Lowlifes and bums, they all come here.” She clicked her tongue. “Poor kids that grow up here, they don't have much goin' for 'em.”

“Doesn't anyone come here to check on these...people?” Oleander asked, his question being met with a chuckle.

“The cops don't wanna come here. It's too violent.” She shook her head again. “Everyone's got a gun or some kind of weapon. I've heard more fights happen here than in all of Los Angeles County. Gang bangers, abusers, just all kinds of nasty guys.” Her cheeks colored, and she cleared her throat. “Oh, uh, sorry. Just remembered you were meeting someone here.”

Oleander didn't reply. It had been a decade since he had last visited Drywell, and his first visit was no better. He had been met with the same dead eyes and rotten stench permeating in the air. The only difference was the quiet, fidgeting boy he had talked with and convinced to come to Whispering Rock when it opened while his parents glared down at him the entire time in that dingy trailer.

“Here we are,” she said, pulling up in front of Denny's. She grinned when he thanked her as he hopped out. “You be careful, okay? Make sure your pockets are secured tight or else some pretty bad fellas are gonna rake through 'em.”

Oleander chuckled and waved his hand. “I'm a Psychonaut. I think I can handle some no good punks.”

He watched her drive off, noticing a group of young teen boys observing her towards the end of the road. They hooted and hollered, some of them throwing rocks as she jerked her car around, but their aim was as terrible as the patched clothing on their backs. She was able to escape unharmed, speeding back down the path to the farm and leaving Oleander in the dust.

Sighing, Oleander turned around and stared at the flickering Denny's sign. The yellow lights were dimmed, and a quick glance at the windows showed no one inside. Checking his watch, he had approximately fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet Bobby. Not wanting to remain outside with a group of rowdy boys and their rocks, he ambled up the steps, each of them creaking as if he would fall right through.

Pushing open the door, he was surprised to find a relatively clean restaurant. There weren't any bugs buzzing around, and he didn't see any stains on the floor. He smelled eggs and sausages coming from the back, the air pungent with grease. Air conditioning cooled him, but he still tugged at his collar and grimaced. There was a jukebox in the corner covered in a fine layer of dust and noticed it was unplugged. He surveyed the booths with springs poking through leather cushions. It certainly didn't seem comfortable to sit down there, so he looked at the empty bar and raised his eyebrows.

Dressed in a black shirt and jeans emblazoned with the Denny's logo, a chubby woman was at the register drumming her fingers along the side of it. She lacked a name tag. Her deep green skin was dotted with pock marks. Her eyes were closed, and she had headphones on connected to a CD player resting on the table. She yawned, the sounds of chatter in the kitchen behind her going unnoticed as she hummed along to a song he couldn't place, her head bobbing from side to side.

“Hello, excuse me,” he began, and the waitress' eyes snapped open, a bewildered hum slipping out of her.

She blinked and suddenly cried out, Oleander flinching at her sharp yelp. Her headphones clattered off her head and dragged her CD player to the tiled floor. Her nails clutched the register, her mouth curving into a scowl as she snapped, “Fuck off! You ain't getting the money in here, asshole! Tell your boss he can die for all I care!”

“H-hey! I'm not here t-to rob you,” Oleander sputtered, showing his hands. The accusation sounded completely ridiculous, and he had to resist the urge to laugh at her when her mouth fell open.

“You're not?” She straightened, but her shoulders still curved forward. Scratching through the bald left side of her head, she began playing with the ashy blonde locks cascading down the right side over her shoulder. Chuckling, she said, “Oh, shit, my bad. You looked like one of Ronny's boys. I was gonna tell you to piss off back to Ronny 'cause he ain't getting his money this week.”

Oleander blinked. He had no idea what this woman was talking about as she snatched a menu off a nearby shelf. She jumped over the counter and handed it to him. Gesturing to the booths, she told him to sit anywhere he wanted since it was a slow night.

“Actually,” he began as she turned away, “I'm meeting someone here.”

“You...are?” She cocked her head. She looked around, as if expecting someone to pop out with a camera and tell her that she was being pranked.

“Are you a local?” Oleander asked, and her lips twitched into her cheeks.

“Uh, duh. I wouldn't be working here if I wasn't.”

Settling into a booth, he pushed the table away and flipped open the menu, saying, “Then, maybe you know who I'm waiting for.” He scanned the list of drinks, rather surprised to see so many alcoholic beverages.

“Hell, I know everyone in this dump.” She gripped her hip and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Lay a name on me. I'll give you a free drink if you stump me, hehehe!”

“Bobby Zilch,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth.

The waitress' smile faded, replaced with an open-mouthed gawk. She glanced around, the sounds of cutlery scrapping against each other in the kitchen. Shooting a quick look out the window, she lowered her voice, narrowed her glare, and asked, “What the fuck do you want with Bobby? Are you a cop? An undercover? Huh? I thought that idiot finished his parole.”

He leaned back, her vitriol palpable. He certainly hadn't expected such a reaction, and he asked, “How do you know him?”

“How do you know him?” she shot back, crossing her arms.

He grit his teeth and growled to himself. Explaining himself to some hillbilly woman rubbed him the wrong way. If Bobby had grown up around people similar to her, he almost didn't want to know what he had become.

But he had a mission, and he wasn't going to fail. He knew he should've kept tabs on Bobby as the years passed. He thought Bobby would have taken the initiative and joined the Psychonauts out of his own volition, that he would realize he had made a mistake giving up the internship Oleander offered. 

That, of course, led to Oleander sitting in a cold, greasy Denny's with his mind wandering back to the phone call with Bobby, his panicked voice still echoing in his head as the waitress spun around, the phone on the wall ringing as if to mock him personally.

“I'll be right back! Don't go nowhere or I'll pull out that weird eye you got,” she spat, her sneakers squeaking on the floor as she stomped back to the register.

“It's a glass eye! Don't you have any sense of-” Oleander heaved out a sigh as she ripped the phone on the wall, promptly ignoring him.

Running his hand down his face, Oleander groaned. The waitress reminded him of a female Bobby, and he wondered if all the residents in Drywell had cloned personalities. He tapped the menu, occasionally glancing up at her as she spoke in hushed tones with someone. It seemed hopeless to even interact with her, so he busied himself with the menu and glanced at the appetizers.

“What? What are you saying?” She curled the cord around her finger. “What the-? Dipshit, slow down. I can't-! What? Yeah, there's a guy who looks like a sweet potato here. Dressed in some ugly ass military outfit. Wait, he did say he was meeting you. What's the deal? Ow! Stop yelling in my fucking ear, boss baby!”

Oleander raised his head and squinted at her. He watched her slowly pivot, her lips pursing together. She lowered the phone and offered a weary grin at him, which made his brows knit together. He couldn't make out what the other person was saying, but he suspected it was filled with cursing considering how badly the waitress winced until she slammed the phone back on the receiver.

Breathing in deeply, she whistled and said, “Well, you check out, Mr. Oleander. Bobby says he'll be here in five.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and sauntered back over to him, her tongue poking the inside of her mouth. “Guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you my name since Bobby says he's actually meeting you and not blowing you off.” Whipping her hand out, she almost hit his nose and said, “Name's Marianne, and to answer your next question, I grew up four trailers down from that douche and couldn't get him outta my life. We've been...” She grinned. “...friiiends for yeeears.”

Oleander shook her hand, surprised to feel callouses pressing against his gloves. “Well, I'm glad we have that settled.”

“Yeah, yeah, you gotta move now.”

His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Bobby has a certain seat. He hates the window booths. Part of his little disorder. Guy hates bein' seen in public like some kind of shut-in freak. So, you gotta go to the one around the corner.” She took the menu, not letting him have any say in the matter.

Oleander shifted out of his seat and followed behind her. He could already feel a dull pounding in the back of his head, the stress of the past half hour beginning to get to him. Checking his watch, he wondered if Bobby would really show up, and if not, he suspected he'd have to march down to his trailer and drag him out to talk.

Seeing the booth waiting for him only made it worse. He scrutinized the carvings in the table, the many “BZ” etchings making the culprit clear. There were questionable stains in the corner underneath the table attracting gnats. Marianne told him it was old sauce that no one cleaned up. It hardly made him feel better as he sat down at the edge of the booth, keeping his ankles crossed in case he needed to spring up and run like the coils peeking through the seat across from him. He stared at the wallpaper as Marianne told him she'd be ready to get his order in a few minutes, the floral print faded much like the middle-aged man who stumbled by the window, a joint hanging limply from his lips.

Sighing, he leaned back in his seat and pulled out his flip phone. He checked the time, watching it pass 6:40 pm. In silence, he listened to the chefs chatter, Marianne's voice occasionally cutting through with a laugh. Their conversation mostly consisted of cursing, potty humor, and the infrequent slur making his skin crawl, and it made him wonder if Bobby had developed a similar sense of humor considering he had always enjoyed crudeness.

Marianne sashayed around the corner and asked, “You got an order yet?”

Oleander rubbed his neck as she scampered towards him, her pen and pad of paper ready. He scanned the menu, his appetite suddenly lost when he noticed rabbit meat as a substitution for the sausages and ham. He tried ignoring his queasiness as Marianne squinted at him, the sounds of knives hitting the boards in the kitchen much louder than before. Swallowing, he quickly flipped the menu over and pointed to a vegetable omelette, the ingredients much more agreeable with him.

“So, are you Bobby's friend?” he asked, leaning on the table as she wrote down his order.

“'Well, that sure is a concept.'” She glanced away. “Maybe something like that. I was the former second-in-command of his gang, but I sometimes run around with the boys when I'm feeling frisky and need a hit.” She chuckled. “Look at me, I'm twenty, and I'm still hanging around with a bunch of teens. A girl can't even get a decent man in this hellhole.”

Oleander's eyes widened, his voice sharp as he blurted, “His 'gang?' He's a gang leader?”

“No, no. It's nothing like what you think. We ain't the Bloods.” She shook her hand. “Just townies doing whatever the hell we wanted. We raised hell in juvie together 'til I grew outta the system and got this job.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Mostly stole shit and did some other questionable stuff, but you're about to eat, so I don't wanna rub your face in with the details.”

“Yeah, I'd rather not hear anything like that,” he admitted, his fingers curling into a fist underneath the table.

She sighed and pressed her hand to her cheek, her fingers digging into her pock marks. “Man, that boss baby. He's somethin' else. He grew up to be a reeeal somethin' alright. Lots of fun to tease that guy, y'know.”

“What...what does that mean?” Oleander felt an itch he couldn't scratch spread across his mind. The way her voice lowered caught him off guard, but he didn't want her to notice that, so he straightened his back and leered at her.

Her cackling reminded him of a fairy tale witch. She spun around, her sneakers squeaking on the tiles again. He watched her leave, his mind spinning with unanswered questions. Not knowing if he should have asked her for more information left him taking off his helmet and scratching his scalp. He shook his head and pursed his lips, a tangy scent wafting up from the sauce in the corner, which he could have sworn moved an inch.

Before he could collect his thoughts, the front door slammed open, the hinges screeching. He leaped upright, catching sight of a large, imposing shadow crossing over the tiles when he looked over his shoulder. He swallowed as the shadow shifted, vanishing around the corner as Marianne greeted him, another cackle leaving her.

“Is he still here? Is he?” His voice sounded deeper in person, but that faint nasal cemented his identity. It bordered on the edge of anxious.

“Right at your spot, boss baby. Your food is almost ready, too. Probably gonna be a few more minutes,” Marianne said, and a heavy groan escaped him. Her tone swapped for something mocking, a flouncy noise which attracted laughter in the kitchen. “Hey, what's the matter? Chickening out? You need me to hold your hand just like when I babysat you? Aren't you the big man in Drywell? Can't even face a pint-sized military macho man?”

“Fuck you,” he spat, the sound of a fist meeting a table making Oleander cringe. He heard something slap against the tiles, the shadow bleeding around the corner.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you wearing? Are you blind or something now?”

“What, are you the Drywell fashion police? You gonna arrest me when your hair looks like lousy string?”

She howled again. “Oh, you always know how to rile me up! Seriously, what are you-? Hey, I'm talkin' to you, dickhead! Don't walk away from me, boss baby!”

The last word caused a shiver to race down his spine. Oleander twisted in his seat, his legs dangling over the edge as the shadow came closer. A blue hand covered in freckles and bandages gripped the corner wall. He made out the tips of dirty flip flops, the choice in footwear surprising him. Bobby had always been barefoot for some odd reason, but before he could contemplate, a tuft of fiery orange hair bobbed into view, the wind clearly having swept it around on his way to Denny's.

“Bobby? Is that you, soldier?” he called, trying to control the quiver in his voice.

He stiffened, and after gripping the wall so tightly he tore off part of the wallpaper, Bobby stumbled around the corner. He kept his head dipped, his hair shadowing his face. He wore a black jacket with the sleeves torn off, the threads dangling down his shoulders, giving Oleander a better voice of coarse, pink scars lining his upper arms. His dark blue dungarees with checkered patches on the knees should have been normal, but they were speckled with an odd green color as if he had gotten dollops of paint on them.

When he raised his head, Oleander couldn't help but utter a confused hum. He had far more teeth than he remembered. Most of them were clearly veneers with their straight, even fittings. The rest of his regular teeth were still tainted with a faintly yellow hue. Braces lined them, surprising Oleander when he remembered the wretched state his mouth was in at camp. At least, it seemed that his gingivitis was cured.

Though, what really caught his attention were the over-sized sunglasses covering his eyes. He couldn't see through the black lenses as Bobby fiddled with them, pushing them up his nose when the sweat on his face threatened to make them slide. Oleander watched him slip his hands behind the lenses, adjusting what appeared to be a smaller pair of glasses under them, his gaze unclear as he slowly approached Oleander, the slapping of his flip flops filling the silence.

“C-Coach Oleander,” Bobby said, the name foreign in his mouth. He sounded as if he was saying it for the first time. He shuffled past him, his taller, stronger frame towering over Oleander, and he slid into the booth across from him. He fiddled with a thread on his jacket, saying, “You...you actually showed up. Wasn't expectin' that. I thought you'd bail.”

“Well, you did call all of a sudden. I couldn't let that go so easily,” Oleander said, folding his hands. He glanced at the table, his elbows scratching against the carvings.

Bobby followed his gaze and smirked, his upper teeth slipping over his lower lip. It seemed like his overbite hadn't been fully fixed yet.

“I take it you made all of these...drawings,” Oleander added, pointing at a rather risque doodle.

“I didn't draw the dick pics. Fuckin' Arnie made those before I smacked him for sitting at my seat,” he said, grabbing a few napkins out of the dispenser and covering the art made by his cronies. He raised his gaze back at Oleander, or at least, that's what Oleander assumed when Bobby lifted his head. “Then again, you dunno who the hell that is, so who cares?” He shrugged and leaned back into the seat, crossing his legs underneath the table, asking, “Anyway, what's up?”

Oleander didn't know where to begin. So much had happened in his life that it couldn't have been told in a few sentences. His campers, now older and most of them interns, crossed his mind, but he thought Bobby wouldn't want to hear about them. His relationship with the other cadets had been contentious and sometimes downright hateful, another slur echoing from the kitchen pulling him out of his contemplation.

“Did she give you any shit?” Bobby asked, rolling his shoulders back.

“Marianne? No, no, she was...pleasant.” Oleander thought that was the proper response when Bobby tugged the collar of his jersey, one Oleander realized was similar to the one he always wore at camp.

“That's one way to put 'er.” He took special interest in the napkins he splayed on the table before shaking his head. “Ya got more medals than I remember. What, did they finally promote you to Senior Babysitting Manager?”

Oleander smirked, the implied insult hardly pinching him. “You're looking at the Senior Facility Overseer. I'm in charge of all the Psychonauts camps.”

“You are?” He snickered and ran his fingers through his hair. “What crackhead let you run them? Don't you have a record for stealing the brains of your own campers?” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Exhibit A right fucking here if your memory has turned to corny dog shit.”

“Hey, I served my probation,” he pointedly replied, Bobby chuckling under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that feelin'. Serve the probation and the courts forgive everything. Then, just go ahead and fuck around some more, show 'em they can't control ya.” His lips cut ugly lines into his cheeks as he smirked. “Not like the courts or juvie can stop me.”

Oleander picked up on his antagonism. He had dealt with many campers similar to Bobby. No one had met his level of wretchedness, but they displayed many similar traits. Most of them thought they were superior, so they used their powers to hurt other kids. They needed discipline, and he certainly gave it to them, forcing them to accept that they weren't above the Tender Brains when they were Aura Wranglers or Astral Warriors.

But Bobby was a special case. He had improved so much that Oleander offered his best internship. He passed his classes with the highest marks. Not even that egghead could criticize his PSI blasts when he shot through all of his censors, destroying one thousand of them in only fifteen minutes, a record only a few campers had been able to match or beat. He was a powerful boy with psychic skills to rival the best freshman interns at the Motherlobe, his chance for greatness soured with a simple rejection, and yet, his power brewed within him to a palpable degree that made Oleander twitch in his seat.

“So, I wasn't expecting your call. Any reason for that?” Oleander asked. He hoped the change in subject would have given them something more amicable to talk about, but he had to hide his frown when Bobby's brows furrowed. He was going to follow up with the internship question when Bobby shrugged.

“No reason. Just...found your number. That's all,” Bobby said, cupping his hand to his cheek. He idly itched at a scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“Really?” Oleander wished he had something to drink to give him time to think about what to say.

“Yeah. Really.” He jerked his head to the window, his back hunching as he leaned forward.

The lie was painfully obvious, but Oleander knew to pretend like he hadn't he sensed it. Acting like he knew something would have put Bobby on edge. He'd probably storm out of Denny's without another word if Oleander accused him of anything, a reaction Bobby had become known for whenever they had “cadet conferences” between the individual campers and the counselors such as when Milla scolded him for pushing down Clem and Crystal during her races. 

He mimicked Bobby's posture and gazed out the window. There really wasn't much of anything out there. The same boys were in the distance and threw rocks at each other. They seemed to be ganging up on one boy in overalls, the stones beating down at him. Bobby telekinetically reached over to the curtains and hoisted them down, and he swallowed thickly, glaring at the table.

“They're so fucking annoying,” Bobby said, heaving out a deep sigh.

“You know them?”

“They're part of my gang, and I can't get rid of 'em. They just follow me around like...” He paused, his hand hovering in the air. Rolling his wrist, he hummed and quickly shook his head, saying, “Forget it.”

“Like lambs? Sheep?” Oleander offered, and Bobby leaned back, snorting.

“Yeah, I guess you can call 'em that. I was thinking of someone else, but y'know, it's whatever.”

“Who were you thinking about?”

Bobby's mouth twisted into a scowl, and he snapped, “What is this, Twenty Questions? It's nothing, got it?”

Tangible anger swelled off him, wafting around him like fresh exhaust. Oleander grimaced, Bobby fixing his sunglasses and avoiding his stare. He glanced at his phone, wondering what to do next. If he couldn't ask questions about something as simple as that, he wasn't sure which direction to take with their conversation.

“It's ready!” Marianne cajoled, her sneakers squeaking on the tiles, and Oleander had never been so happy to hear such an irritating sound.

He was about to turn when an odd groan caught his attention. He raised his head at Bobby, who had one hand covering his right eye, the other rubbing his stomach. Bobby's cheeks darkened when he met Oleander's gaze, and he looked back at the napkins, muttering that he hadn't eaten much all day. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bobby avoided looking Oleander in the eye as Marianne approached them with their plates.

“One vegetable omelette for the potato man, and cinnamon roll pancakes with a side of hash browns for the boss baby,” she said, her words laced with honey. As she set them on the table, Oleander didn't bother looking at the watery exterior of his omelette. He was more concerned with Bobby keeping his attention away when Marianne leaned forward, two of the buttons on her shirt now open, her smirk fixated on her face as he stared at the wall. From her platter, she set down two glasses of iced water and stood upright, her middle finger grazing Bobby's cheek as she said, “Well, lemme know if I can get you guys anything. Don't hesitate to call, okay, boss baby?”

Bobby stiffened, his eyes narrowing into what Oleander presumed were slits. He rammed his elbow into her stomach, making her recoil and cackle. Oleander smacked his hands on the table and ordered him to stand down. Bobby snarled at him and raised his fist only for it to sink into his lap like an anchor drifting to the bottom of the sea. 

Marianne claimed she was fine as she swung the platter by her hips. Neither of them thanked her as she strolled away to the booming laughter echoing in the kitchen. Bobby snatched the cloth containing the silverware and tore it off, ignoring Oleander when he demanded to know why he struck her. Bobby stabbed his fork through the cinnamon crumb topping again and again, his nose wrinkling, his cheeks flushing a brilliant red, and Oleander sensed something was very, very wrong in Denny's.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Oleander reached forward and gripped Bobby's wrist, startled when Bobby yanked his hand back.

“It's nothing. God, I ain't needing a helping hand to eat some fucking pancakes,” he growled, grabbing the bottle of strawberry syrup and dumping what Oleander assumed was a pound of syrup on an already sugary dinner. He dropped the bottle to the floor and tapped his fork against the side of his plate, his hash browns now soaked with syrup.

Now fully understanding why there was a stain underneath the table, Oleander sighed. “You're gonna give the cleaning crew one hell of a mess to work with.”

Bobby scoffed. “'Cleaning crew?' As if this place can afford one.” He took a bite and continued to talk. “Marianne's supposed to be the one doin' that, but she doesn't. Says she hates the smell.”

“I see,” Oleander said, letting the conversation end.

He picked at his omelette with his fork. Chopped tomatoes and green bell peppers spilled out with bits of yolk. The cheddar cheese topping was still cold despite the steam permeating from within the omelette. He pursed his lips, earning a snicker from Bobby as he stuffed his face with pancakes. Oleander didn't expect fine dining, but the amount of gooey yolk dribbling from the omelette was absurd.

“They don't know you, so they don't give a shit if they don't make your order fine and dandy,” Bobby said as Oleander scooped a few bits of broccoli onto his spoon. “If ya complain, they'll try to stab ya.”

“Are you serious?” Oleander said, biting down.

“One of my boys got a knife through his shoulder for saying he didn't get a good slice of apple pie.” Bobby clicked his tongue. “Got twenty stitches that day. Ol' Chef Burghs got fired, but he's workin' at another Denny's in Jefferson City from what Marianne told me.”

“Jesus,” Oleander mumbled, setting his fork down, his appetite suddenly lost.

Bobby cut through his pancakes and rolled his eyes. “Just throw it away if you ain't gonna eat. They don't fuckin' care one way or the other.”

Oleander scooped out a few portions of the vegetables and ate those. They were a bit watery and too buttery, but it was decent. He didn't want to face the wrath of an angry, stabbing chef if he complained, though he would have if he was at another restaurant and not in the middle of a maddening trailer park.

Bobby rubbed his eye again, his groan pressing against closed lips. Oleander watched him grab his water, his fingers shaky as he curled them around the glass. He sucked down a breath before gulping half of it in one go, tilting his head back for Oleander to see something odd behind his pairs of glasses.

He caught a glimpse of burgundy. It wasn't Bobby's eye color, and he couldn't be sure what it was when Bobby dropped his head down. He listened to Bobby sigh and scratch his eye, asking if he was tired as he took another bite.

“T-tired? Me?” He huffed out a laugh. “Hell no. I can go all night. I could smash some kids around right now if I wanted.”

“Well, if that's what you wanna do,” Oleander said, grinning, “I guess you don't want to discuss the internship.”

He knew he caught Bobby like a sniper having his target in his cross-hairs. Bobby snapped to attention, his hand hesitating over his fork. His mouth fell open, and he appeared like he was about to say something only to close his mouth. Itching his brow, he flicked off a bead of sweat and waited for Oleander to continue.

“I know you aren't the biggest fan of...” Oleander drummed his fingers on the table. “...following orders-”

“Fuck no,” Bobby spat.

“-but the Psychonauts live by a code,” he finished, and Bobby groaned, deflating in his seat. “Oh, come on, soldier, straighten up! At least pretend to be interested!”

His sharp tone made Bobby fix his slouch only to quick slide back down in his seat, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You're the one who called me about the internship. I can get you in,” Oleander said, Bobby's expression swapping for neutrality. He rubbed his knuckles against his palm. “Though, I have to ask you a few questions about-”

Bobby tugged at his collar, eyes shifting towards the curtains as he grumbled, “Forget it.”

“What?” Oleander gripped the table. “Did-did you just tell me to 'forget it?'”

“Forget it, Coach. I'm not doin' it.” He rubbed his shoulder. “I can't. I got...I got stuff to do.”

“Like shoving some kid into the ground?” Oleander sneered, Bobby's snarl returning faster than one could blink.

“F-fuck you! You don't get to-”

“I'm just quoting you. You said, and I quote, ' I could smash some kids around right now if I wanted.'” Oleander bent forward and lowered his voice. “Now, do you wanna listen about the internship or do you wanna go out and bully some little kids?”

The way he phrased it surprised even himself. He knew Bobby understood harshness. Milla's sweet words never reached him. The only time when harshness gave a negative effect was the infamous GPC incident during Bobby's third summer at camp, but when he saw Bobby shuddering in rage, his teeth gnashing together, he knew he had him.

“You called me and asked about the internship. You sounded pretty pleased when I said you could still be accepted.” He pointed at Bobby and had the audacity to lean over and tap his chest. “Now, why the hell would you suddenly go back on your word like that, soldier?”

“I-I ain't your fucking soldier! Quit calling me that!” Bobby seethed, veins popping up in his neck. He shifted his glare over Oleander, waving his hand for Marianne to return to her register when she poked her head around the corner. “God, just...just shut up, will you? Keep your voice down.”

“You want me to be quiet,” Oleander deadpanned.

“Yeah!”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Bobby. After you stomp in here and make a scene and act wishy-washy, I can't help but be irritated at you!” Oleander smacked his hands on the table. “You asked for the internship, and I said I could get you in it, but from what I've seen from you, you aren't acting like anyone fit for the Psychonauts!”

Sitting back, he sipped his water as Bobby's eyes widened. He smirked when Bobby sputtered out insults and shakily raised his finger. He knew he pinched a nerve, but he had to be forward. Trying to placate Bobby or praise him got him nowhere in the past, and he wasn't about to let Bobby walk all over him. 

But his former cadet suddenly recoiled, his hand flying over his right eye. All of that arrogance Oleander felt swiftly dissipated as Bobby rubbed his hand up and down, covering his eye and hurrying out of his seat. A strangled moan slipped past his chapped lips, his expression twisting in pain. He stumbled past Oleander, ignoring him when he shouted to know what was wrong. He dashed around the corner, and Oleander stumbled after him, watching him vanish into the bathroom, the restaurant deathly silent.

Marianne clicked her tongue and caught his attention. She smirked at him, saying, “Wow. Been a while since I've seen him like that.” Snickering, she waved her hand dismissively and added, “He looked just like how he did was he was eight when Reggie Slimjaw yanked out clumps of that greasy nest he had the balls to call hair.”

“H-how the hell can you talk about someone like that? Aren't you two friends?” Oleander blurted, narrowing his eyes at her. Anger stewed his stomach as another pained moan pressed against the closed door. His own eye twitched, his emphatic powers bleeding through at the worst possible moment, and he squinted at her, trying to ignore the pain pulsing from the bathroom. 

She blinked and set her headphones back over her ears, replying, “I tooold you. I was his second-in-command. I never said we were friends, but we had our...benefits.” She winked, sending a chill down Oleander's spine. “Don't yell at him too much. He's sensitive like the big boss baby he is. I can't have fun with him if he's all depressed again. I don't get good reactions if he's all sad and shit.” Curling her hair behind her ear, she cocked her head so far to the left that it bordered on inhuman. “Last time I've seen him this miserable was when his little space princess stopped talking to 'im. I got a lot of mileage out of that, and when that it kid told him to take a hike, he really became the leader I knew he could be.” She clapped her hands together like a kid getting the birthday present they requested. “He was all power-hungry and cruel! It was really great watching him go all out with his powers! Gives me a great show, but it's also fun when he's ready to cry at the first sight of a punch.”

Her rambling left him uneasy, but picking up on two specific phrases, he gnashed down on his molars and snapped, “'It kid?' 'Space princess?' 'Power-hungry and cruel?' Don't talk about my cadets like that, and that's a bold-faced lie! She-!”

“Hey, was that Bobby? I just got in for my, eh, shift,” Someone from the kitchen called. A short teenage boy with mangled teeth and a black eye poked his head out from another door. Like Marianne, he wore a typical Denny's uniform, the blue of his jeans matching the color of his skin. Dandruff peppered his hair and dotted his shoulders much to Oleander's disgust.

Marianne hitched her thumb to the bathroom. “Sure was. Just ran in there, Arnie.”

“Oh, fuck, I missed somethin' good? Was he wiggin' out again?” Arnie coughed in disbelief. “God, what a-”

“Shut up, moron,” she snapped, pointing at Oleander. “Bobby's...I dunno, camp counselor is here.”

Arnie took one look at Oleander and asked, “Is that a man? Like, can a guy really look like that stumpy?”

“Cram it, buckteeth! I don't need some grimy kid telling me off,” Oleander snapped, grabbing his hips. He leered back at Marianne, who was busy inspecting her nails. “What in the Sam Hill is your problem?”

“Who's Sam Hill?” she asked, not bothering to look at him.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Oleander shouted as he stomped towards the register. He caught other heads poking out of the kitchen, a youthful blend of blemishes and bandages. He slapped his hands on the table, levitating up so he could be at eye level with her. “You listen here, missy. I don't know what your game is, but I am not going to let you treat my former cadet like he's your plaything.”

Marianne blinked, and then, she blinked again. Itching the back of her scalp, she broke into a wide grin. She tossed off her headphones and lunged over the counter, Arnie and the kitchen boys behind her snickering to themselves.

“Oooh, I remember you now! Bobby told me all about the brain stealing thing when I babysat him.” She sighed and hugged herself, Oleander paling. “That was a great day. He kept trying not to cry, but I could tell he wanted to bawl. That little face of his was all snotty and red, toootally gross. Telling him that he could've died or been used for the rest of his life was great!”

The bathroom door slammed open before Marianne could go any further. Bobby rubbed his knuckles, pulling his hair towards his right eye. Looking up, he quickly fixed his sunglasses, his cheeks flushed when he realized all eyes were on him.

“What are you chucklefucks looking at?” he snarled, the growl rising in the back of his throat. “It ain't the right day for you pricks to be here. There's no gang meeting today, so fuckin' scram, the lot of you.”

The boys stared at him, Bobby itching his eye again.

“Didn't you dipshits hear me?” he bellowed, bubblegum pink PSI energy crackling off his arms. The air around him burned, heat sweltering around them and making a few boys yelp. Oleander brought his fingers to his temple as Bobby shouted, “Get the fuck outta here, and I won't rip your arms and legs off and stuff them in both ends!”

A few members of his gang knew wiser. They vanished back into the kitchen, leaving Oleander to wonder why they had shown up. It wasn't like they knew about their meeting. Unless Bobby told them beforehand, they didn't have any reason to be at Denny's.

He marched past Marianne who cast him a very bright grin. She dragged her finger along his cheek as he passed her. He shuddered from head to toe as if a jolt of static electricity raced up his spine. Rubbing his arms, he glared over his shoulder at Oleander and told him to hurry up.

He wasn't the best at diffusing tense situations. It really was out of his league. Milla was the best at that, so he lumbered after Bobby, his mind racing with solutions that didn't seem quite right.

Though, when he glanced over his shoulder around the corner, he swallowed when he realized the rest of them had uncanny grins on their faces.

“Fuckin' pricks, all of 'em, no good sons of bitches, scumbag losers like...” Bobby mumbled to himself as he slid back into his booth. He shoved another helping of pancakes in his mouth, flinching at what Oleander assumed was a cold taste.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asked.

“Peachy, I'm just peachy,” Bobby sneered, spitting out mushy bits on to the table. He threw a napkin over the gunk and batted it to the floor.

He didn't know what else to say as Bobby gobbled down his pancakes and hash browns. He had envisioned arguing between them, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He sensed the gleeful, manic energy radiating from the kitchen, wondering if Bobby's goons, if he could call them that, were going to pounce at any second.

Though, when he mulled over what Marianne said, something dumbfounded him. He quickly grabbed his flip phone, Bobby fixing his sunglasses again. He hit a few buttons and pulled up his text messages before offering the phone to Bobby.

“Here. I think you'd like to read this,” he said as Bobby swiped the phone out of his hand.

He tensed in his seat as Bobby read. The seconds seemed to tick past them as he observed Bobby's expression growing longer, his lips turning downwards, and his eyebrows reaching up to his hairline. He remained seated when Bobby lunged up, gripping the phone so tightly that he thought it would snap in half.

“Wh-wha-what is this? This-this ain't right,” he muttered, his hand hovering near his mouth. He clicked a few buttons, presumably checking the texts again before the phone slipped from his hands. Slumping down in his seat, he stared at Oleander with what he presumed were dinner plate eyes.

“I've heard through the grapevine that you think Chloe didn't want to continue talking with you. That's the farthest thing from the truth,” Oleander said as Bobby's entire body trembled so badly that even his hair wobbled.

Tearing the phone back, he held it close to his face and mumbled, “'Have you heard anything from him this year?' 'No, I'm sorry...'” He stopped reading for a moment and sucked down a breath, saying her name with reverence and flinched as if someone like him had no right to say it. “...'Chloe.' Chloe. Chloe.” His shoulders quaked, and he gnawed down on his lip. “'I see. He is my second-in-command, so I'll write another letter. Hopefully, this one will reach him. My mother has been snooping into my private life again and-'” He furrowed his brows. “Wait, “mother?' Her mom was-?” He gripped his forehead, hunching forehead and shaking his head. “Chloe sent me a letter when I was fourteen. It was written weirdly, like the penmanship was even better than usual, and she said...she said to never talk to her again, that I was...I was...”

“Chloe had made many complaints to the camp about her mother interfering in her friendships,” Oleander interjected, coaxing Bobby to look at him. “Since Chloe is a minor-” He noticed Bobby wince at that word. “-her mother said she'd have no choice but to sue the Psychonauts if we did anything that had gone against her wishes for her daughter.” He snorted, remembering the terse expression worn by that tall woman in her fancy get-up, the way her eyes flicked between the counselors and landed on her daughter as Chloe stared at her hands tucked in her hap. She had stroked Chloe's helmet as if she was a cute little puppy sitting in her purse. Shaking his head, Oleander said, “That included taking any letters and sending them for her. She said she'd find out, and Chloe told us that she didn't want to risk her mother's...overbearing nature affect the camp. She asked us not to get involved and told us she'd handle finding a way to talk with you.”

“Wha-what? I don't-I don't get it.” Bobby stumbled over his words, shaking as if he was trapped in the cold.

“Chloe came to us when she was nine saying she had been tricked by her mother. She had always asked her mother to mail her letters to you, but one day, she said her mother mailed her own letter,” Oleander explained, Bobby squeaking in response and raising his hand to his mouth. “She said her mother put a wedge between you two, and that because of it, she wasn't able to speak with you again. Said she'd keep trying on her half and hoped you'd somehow find out.”

Oleander grimaced and leered at the tiles. Bobby had completely stopped communicating with anyone at Whispering Rock, so he didn't bother passing on Chloe's message. It wasn't like Bobby expressed any interest in the Psychonauts. Hearing from a former counselor probably would have aggravated him, but whenever it came to Chloe, he had anyone's full attention. No matter what it was about, whether it was learning about her advanced telepathy or what kind of special training Sasha offered her, his interest in Chloe had always been in the forefront during his last summer at Whispering Rock.

They had been inseparable in his final year. Sometimes, they'd be spotted together with Chloe hitching a ride in his hair while he levitated across camp. Oleander remembered one of the pictures Milla took for the scrapbook being of them watching the stars together while Bobby levitated and held Chloe above his head. It had been oddly sweet, and Oleander had even kept that picture tucked away in another drawer in his office where he stowed photographs of his treasured campers as they trained and grew.

“I...should have told you, private. I thought you didn't want to hear from any of us after what happened at camp,” he admitted, regret tugging at his words. “I'm sorry for that. Really, I am.”

Bobby gripped his jaw, his elbows trembling so terribly that the entire table shook. 

“Every summer, she asked about you. She never stopped. The first thing she would ask when she came off that bus was 'How's Bobby?' or 'Have you heard from my second-in-command?'” Oleander recalled, offering a small smile. “We did try giving her the number your parents-” He noticed Bobby also winced at that. “-gave us, but Chloe told us that her mother blocked that number from being dialed. We also didn't have an email address on file to give her, too.”

Bobby didn't answer. He stared through Oleander, his jaw slackening. He brought the phone up and clicked through the texts again, groaning. Snapping the phone shut, he slid it back to Oleander and put his face in his hands, the only sound coming from him being sharp breathing.

“Bobby, are you-?”

“'I don't want you associating with me.'”

Oleander pulled back, his hand hovering in the space between them.

“'Why you insisted upon hanging out with someone as young as me is beyond reason. I do not want to interact with you any longer. You manipulated me. You took away two summers of my training. I cannot get them back. You are a teenager now, so why is it that you only have a single friend with an elementary school child? It's creepy. It's strange. It's out of this world.'” Bobby pressed his hands over his face, his sunglasses pressing against his eyes and causing the other pair to go lopsided. He sucked down shallow breaths, something wet rolling down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. “'I do not like you. I felt obliged to hang out with you because you wouldn't leave me alone. I just turned nine years old, and your fourteenth birthday is only a few months away. You are too old for someone like me to play with.'”

The words ran on in a monotone fashion. Bobby sounded like was reciting something for a school play. Oleander's skin crawled as Bobby's fingers started ripping through his scalp, his evenly spoken words a sharp contrast to his panicked posture.

“'Your freakish, uncouth behavior is immoral. You are disgusting for going after someone like me. I hate you. Never contact me again.'” He slowly drew his nail-bitten fingernails into his palms. “Chloe wrote that. She wrote it all up nice and pretty and stuffed it in an envelope and sent it my way and told me to fuck off for good.” He straightened himself, keeping his attention on the floor, and he dropped his hands into his lap. “I memorized that letter. It was in my head in a loop for years.” He narrowed his eyes on the corner of the restaurant. “Because if she didn't care, then fuck it, I didn't care. I started doing everything I wanted. Even though I...ran this place for so long, I decided I was going to be the most vile thing this dump has ever seen.”

“But that wasn't her. That was-”

“Her mom. I get it,” Bobby quietly finished. “Makes sense now. Chloe wouldn't, I mean, I think she wouldn't say that stuff.” He bowed his head and lowered his voice. “She was the only one who wasn't afraid of me. She actually liked being around me.”

Oleander managed to smile. He felt like he was finally getting somewhere with him. He had fixed a problem he didn't know Bobby even had. Though he still regretted not reaching out sooner, the progress being made gave him hope.

“Then, you can be reassured knowing she still thinks of you as a close friend. Seriously, you're all she talks about when she arrives at Whispering Rock,” Oleander said. Giving a hearty laugh, he leaned forward and added, “Maybe you could use my phone and give her a call right now. How's that sound?”

His trembling form stilled. He looked down at his hands, glanced up at Oleander, his expression completely blank. 

And then, he snatched the edges of the table. With a roar, he ripped it off the ground, PSI energy trickling down his arms as he slammed it into the wall, cracking through the wallpaper and smashing through the fiberglass, revealing the dreadful world outside of Denny's, Oleander not having the time to even scream.

“How fucking stupid are you? Is that hat screwed on too tight or are you just that friggin' dense?” Bobby roared, lunging forward and snatching Oleander's lapels. He dragged him closer to his face, Oleander's eyes bulging in his skull. His lip curled, and he dug into Oleander's skin, bruising it a deep purple. “Why the hell would I hang out with Chloe? I just turned seventeen! She's twelve or somethin'! I dunno! That's fucked up! Don't you get how fucked up that is?” He shoved Oleander into the wall, his fingers threading through his hair as he recoiled, his own back pressing against the booth. “There's no fuckin' brain cells in your head, huh? If you can't get how-how-how wrong it would be for me to even be around her, for me to even take a walk with her, then I'll kick your ass all the way back to your stupid, ugly-ass headquarters!”

Throwing Oleander back, he gasped for breath. His chest heaved, and he clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles popped. He sidestepped Oleander, gripping his right eye and moaning. Hobbling forward, he jabbed his fingers behind his sunglasses and seemed to be pressing them right into his eye, the sight making Oleander's chest squeeze. 

He looked like one of the injured bunnies his father would bring out to slaughter.

“Oh, is your meeting done?” Marianne cajoled, a few heads popping out from behind the kitchen again. She was sitting on the counter, her legs crossed like a mob boss. Twirling a lock of hair, she snickered at Bobby as he glared at her.

“Drink your own fuckin' piss, Marianne,” he seethed, heading towards the door.

“Bobby, hold on! We're not done here!” Oleander called, hobbling after him, but Marianne slipped off the counter and landed in front of him.

“Sheeeesh, old man, isn't it obvious that Bobby doesn't wanna be a Psychonaut?” She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “He's already a psychic, and that already makes him bad to the bone.”

Bobby froze by the door, a chill racing down his back.

“He's already made a name for himself out here. It's not like the Psychonauts need another scumbag loser like him around.” She punched his shoulder, and Bobby quickly raised his arms when she slung her arm around his shoulder. With those uneven fingernails of hers, she grazed Bobby's chin, tickling it in front of the bewildered coach. “'Sides, what are we gonna do without our boss baby, huh? He's gotta stay here. There's nothing else for him 'cept for Drywell.” She beamed at him, her teeth too white compared to the atrocities in the other boys' mouths. “Riiight, boss baby? You ain't leaving Drywell, are you? Need me to walk you home so you won't get hurt? I'll treat you right like I always do, okay? Everyone here will.”

Such a disturbing relationship set off every alarm in Oleander's head. They rang louder than the ones at headquarters, and those blared throughout the entire facility. Something was very, very wrong as Bobby paled, his sunglasses slipping down his nose and giving Oleander a slight view at something white hidden underneath.

Bobby shuddered, grasping at the threads on his jacket. All eyes fell on him, those cruel, laughing eyes. There wasn't a single friendly smile his way, just as he expected as Marianne continued.

She stroked his shoulder, rubbing what seemed to be comforting circles and said, “Come on, Bobby, let's all get outta here. You, me, and the boys can go run wild. I'll even close up shop so you can let go of all that nasty brain energy you got stored in there. We'll have so much fun 'cause of you, boss baby.” She swiped her thumb along his mouth and cut his lower lip. “If you do, I'll-”

But Marianne never had time to finish her offer. All she felt was pain exploding in her head and warm liquid rolling down her nostrils over her lips. Her skull felt like a cracked egg, the yolk of her brain seeping between the mangled shell of her skull. Her body had been slammed into the wall, her limbs splaying out and dislocating. The boys shrieked and dived for cover in the kitchen as the wall cracked, and before she understood what happened, she found herself collapsing right through Denny's and staring at the smoggy sky.

Oleander clenched his fist, his shield pulling back to him. The spikes curved in on themselves as he waved the shield away. He marched by Bobby, and his boots slammed into the tiles, Marianne's whimpering ringing hollow in his ears.

“If I see you pulling something so vile and so disgusting on Bobby again, I'll gladly go on probation one more time if it means throwing you to the dogs,” he snarled, and bending down, he snatched her uniform and dragged her closer to his face, barking, “Do I make myself clear? If any of you treat my cadet like that again, you will be sorry! Am I clear? I said, am I clear, Marianne!”

Marianne squealed and squeezed her eyes shut. She tried nodding, but the throbbing in her neck kept her head still. She slouched among the rubble, her eyes rolling into her head, and she heaved out a breath, falling victim to unconsciousness.

The other boys made no sudden movements as Oleander returned. He paced himself, keeping a watchful eye on them. He jerked his fingers to his temple, elated when they yelped and raced back into the kitchen like a pack of wild dogs.

Shaking his head, Oleander was about to turn to Bobby when the door slammed open. Bobby darted out, his long legs leaving Oleander in the dust. He opened his mouth ready to shout his name when Bobby stumbled, his flip flops tripping over something as tiny as a pebble, and he landed flat on his face, another cry escaping him.

“Bobby, hey, Bobby!” Oleander dashed after him as fast as his short legs could go. He crouched by his side, gripping his shoulder and applying firm pressure. “What's going on? Why are you staying with these people? They aren't your gang! They're your-”

“I know,” Bobby seethed, pushing up on his elbows. He stayed on his arms and knees, his hair shadowing his face.

Something glimmered, quickly catching Oleander's attention. The sunglasses Bobby had been wearing had scattered a few feet in front of them. He telekinetically pulled it towards them, one of the lenses now cracked.

“You think I don't know what they do to me? You think I haven't lived the past fifteen fuckin' years trying to stay alive with 'em? Best thing I can do is use my powers to make 'em fear me, make 'em respect me, or make 'em laugh to get off my ass for another day,” Bobby growled only to cough out a sigh. He sat up, pressing his hand over his right eye, his regular glasses slanted under his palm. “You think I ain't aware of what the hell is happening to me? You're dumber than you look, Coach.”

“Bobby-”

“It ain't like what you think. Oh, I do the worst, most wretched things possible, and I do it all with a big ol' grin on my face.” He flashed a bright smile as if to emphasize his point. “I just love, love, love pushing kids into animal guts and kicking others around, and I'm a regular at juvie. They can't stand me here, and they can't stand me there, so why the fuck shouldn't I do whatever the hell I want, huh?” He lowered his voice, his red eye scanning the gravel under them. “But the moment I let my guard down or do somethin' they don't like, they'll turn on me. Don't think I'm a dipshit for not noticing how they treat me.”

“Why did she...touch you like that?” Oleander asked, uncertain if the question was appropriate.

Bobby refused to meet his gaze as he said, “She just likes messing with me. That's all.”

“That was more than 'messing with,' son. She was-”

“I know! I know what she's like. I fucking grew up with that bitch,” Bobby interjected, his forehead wrinkling as distress inched its way into his voice. “Every time I got beat up or one of the guys at school would try hurtin' me, she'd always be there to patch me up. The perks of havin' a crazy, controlling chick as a neighbor, huh? Always made the bandages too tight to cut the circulation or pulled my hair when she had to tear out gum and shit. Had the gall to even say she loved me a few times when I was actin' like a crying sack of shit.” He shrugged, a limp rising and falling of his shoulders. “Never ever heard those words before her, but she said it so often that they stopped havin' any meaning. She just liked having me around as her toy, but a little pyrokinesis from me, and I can get right back at her.” He smirked. “That's why she's half bald.”

His sneer lasted half a second before it fell back into a scowl. Oleander had words he wanted to say, to tell Bobby he didn't need to endure it, that he would gladly get him in to the internship program. Any department, any training, he'd get it for him as Bobby dug his fist into the ground, bruising his knuckles.

“Sucks here, Coach. Really fuckin' sucks here, but I-” Bobby threw his hand out, and all the color drained from Oleander's face. “-I can't just leave! The stupid rules you Psychonauts follow, it's all garbage! At least here, I'm...free? H-hey, what-what are you looking at? You're lookin' at me like a dumbass.” He glanced at his right hand, and then, he jerked his head to his left hand. Glancing between them with his one eye, he sucked down a breath and realized what he had done.

Oleander couldn't take his eyes away from it. The gauze pad completely covered his right eye, but he could still see thick patches of swollen, puffy, dark violet skin poking out from the bandages that stuck to his forehead and hair. Rust wafted from the wound, the burgundy color staining right through the pad, and Oleander's heart dropped into his stomach. It was a recent wound, the drying blood mingling with the still fresh injury considering how wet the gauze appeared, and all the screaming in Bobby's room over the phone suddenly made sense.

“Who did that to you?” he whispered as Bobby fixed his glasses. “Bobby, tell me right now. Who hurt you?”

“Wouldn't-wouldn't you like to know? Haven't you caused me enough problems?” he hissed, stumbling to his feet. He pulled his hair down, avoiding Oleander's narrowed glare. “C'mon, back off, Coach. I don't need this right now.”

“Yes! Yes, you do need this right now!” He circled in front of Bobby, the difference in height painfully apparent. “You think you can keep living in squalor or suffer at the hands of people who are never gonna leave this place, but we both know that's wrong. We both know what potential you have to be a Psychonaut or at least someone who can leave this...this hicksville!”

Bobby grinded down on his teeth, his braces looking like they would snap off at any second.

“If you give me a chance, I can prove to you-” He pointed at Bobby's chest. “-that you don't have to live here. Just-just come stay with me for a few days at headquarters.” He sucked down a breath and swallowed. “Let me make things right between us. You reached out to me, and I want to help you.”

“You...can't be-it's-I'm seventeen,” he sputtered, shaking his head, his hair moving with him.

“Your age doesn't matter-”

“It does! It does matter! Fuckin' Spaz became an agent at ten! The other losers are probably all cooped away at HQ doin' some training right now! Even Chloe-!” He pursed his lips, cutting himself off before he could besmirch her name. Crossing his arms, he kicked the sand up and felt the wind blow it at his ankles. “I'm...too old. It'll be a waste of time.”

Oleander shook his head. “That's a bold excuse. Milla discovered her powers when she was an adult. I never even went to a camp. We both went through the proper training, and look where we are.”

“Stuck in a dingy summer camp?”

“Stuck in a dingy-no!” Oleander snapped, his cheeks reddening as Bobby smirked. “Look, Bobby, you asked me about the internship. I can get you in. All I need...” He outstretched his hand. “...is for you to trust me.”

The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity as Bobby stared at his former counselor's hand. Oleander grinned as wide as he could, leaning forward to grab Bobby's hand for him to make him shake. He knew he couldn't force him to agree, that it had to be up to him like it had been when he was thirteen, but he still inched forward in hopes he would take his hand.

Bobby raised his hand, his fingers twitching. His expression scrunched up, and an awkward groan pressed against his clenched teeth. Bending down, he slowly pressed his palm against Oleander's.

And then, he smacked it away.

“I don't need the Psychonauts. I survived on my own for this long, and I still do it, Back off,” Bobby hissed, walking passed the baffled coach.

“B-Bobby, Bobby, don't do this. Let me help you,” he begged, pivoting around and hobbling after him. Bobby's longer strides made it difficult, and he huffed as Bobby's pace increased.

Under his breath, he snarled, “They're all stupid, but I'm not stupid. You're stupid. Marianne's stupid. The hag is stupid. The drunk is stupid. Spaz is stupid. Zanotto is stupid. That commie prick is stupid. Chloe is-agh! Fuck!” He kicked the ground only to get a heaping of sand blown back in his face. Cradling his injured eye, he groaned and hunched forward as far as his spine would go. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, stupid fuckin' belt! Stupid fuckin' eye! Stupid fuckin' me!”

“'Belt?' Were you hit with a belt?” Oleander gripped his cadet's back, watching Bobby's cheeks flush.

“N-no! I just-! I tripped! I tripped and fell down right on a...a...a tree branch! Sticking up from the ground!” His shrill voice pierced through the silent trailer park, and he recoiled as a heaping of laughter emerged from somewhere behind him. He gasped as he looked around, spinning in place and finding no one but the local drug dealers sitting on their stoops, wheezing up giggles.

Oleander surveyed their surroundings. Only rotted tree stumps surrounded them by broken trailers. The last branch he saw had been on the outskirts of the unmarked territory.

“Who did that to you, Bobby? Tell me, please,” Oleander implored, gripping his hand as if he was a small child, like he had done when he guided the wide-eyed seven-year-old around camp for the first time.

Bobby's expression tensed only for it to fall away in an instant. He looked like he lost the battle. There couldn't be any tricks or lies he could say that would appease Oleander, and Oleander knew that well. He wouldn't let Bobby hide anymore, and he squeezed his hand.

“You can tell me,” he said, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles.

Sighing, Bobby exhaled the name, and Oleander's world burned a brilliant shade of crimson.

“My stupid fuckin' Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> absolutely wild that this chapter came out to more than 11k words. it was supposed to be much shorter, but i kept writing. marianne's character changed a lot from my first draft. she was initially a big support for bobby, like an actual friend, but as i developed her, i thought it would be even sadder for bobby to have someone to rely on in drywell, only for that person to abuse him, too, especially emotionally. having a person say they care only to hurt him more, especially when he's in a place where no one cares for him, i thought would have really cemented the fact that he thinks he has no place to go and feels trapped in drywell. (oleander will help him out tho!!! he's just gotta deal with the parents now.) i also don't know why the notes from the first chapter are appearing at the bottom of this chapter, whoops.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read!! this chapter contains graphic scenes of child abuse (both physical and emotional), eye trauma, and descriptions of bobby very badly fixing his eye injury. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, i'd recommend skipping those parts!!

The walk to Bobby's home was quiet. Bobby hadn't made a sound since admitting his father was the one who had caused his injury. Oleander kept glancing up at him, the dust and sand kicking at their ankles all the way to his place. Bobby didn't return his gaze, focusing on the layabouts loitering around their beaten-up trailers or their shacks with rotten slabs of wood threatening to fall off. The sky had darkened, the once gray clouds now pitch black, the only stray lights coming from flickering, crooked lampposts guiding their way.

Oleander stewed with rage. He still couldn't believe what he had seen in such a short amount of time. He hadn't expected such wretched people to be tormenting Bobby for such a long stretch of his life. Oleander knew what it was like to be bullied by others who had mocked him for his stature and powers, but it was never to that violent, manipulative degree which had Bobby endured for a majority of his life. He couldn't imagine how he had survived for so long without reaching out for help, and a quick scan at the scars cutting through the many freckles on his arms, neck, and face gave Oleander a frightening idea of Bobby's ordeal.

Despite his anger, concern filled him as he looked at Bobby's eye. The wound was fixed in a way that screamed Bobby had done it himself. The gauze pad crusted over with blood, and yet, it seemed drenched as if the bloody flow kept coming. Puffy skin reached his eyebrow and made the bags under his injury darker, causing Oleander's heart skip a beat. Bobby seemed to be making a point of not making eye contact, his attention fixated on the ground, giving Oleander a clear view of the despondency etched in his expression.

“It's up there,” Bobby said, his voice devoid of any feeling.

Oleander snapped his attention forward as they strolled up to the dilapidated mess. What caught his eye was addition of a second, one-story home next to the trailer. The same rotted wood, the same rusted hinges, the same cracks in the windows, it was another look-a-like to the other homes they had passed. The roof seemed to have a hole in it, but a tarp covered it, and the breeze caused it to rustle, stray bits of tape flapping in the wind.

In comparison, the trailer was clean. The metal shined despite the lack of light. It was as if it had recently been washed, a stark contrast to the neighboring trailers. The awning stretched out from the side, creating a large shadow on the dead grass. Plastic furniture lined the exterior. Three strong locks were wrapped around the door handle, each of them a different size and presumably needing a different key.

“Come on,” Bobby said, “I live in the shack.”

“By yourself?” Oleander asked, following behind him.

Bobby's lone eye widened for a moment, and he quickly snorted, “They said there ain't any room for me in the trailer. Too tall or whatever.” He shrugged. “Least I got this place to myself.”

Oleander swallowed as Bobby set his finger to the lock on the home's door. He watched Bobby's expression remain the same, no longer having to scrunch up his face to pick locks. With the slightest movements of his finger mimicking an inserting key, he snapped his fingers, and the door's lock clicked. 

“Lock picking is still your thing, huh? That's some pretty impressive control over your telekinesis,” Oleander offered as Bobby shoved the door open.

The compliment made Bobby's mouth twitch upwards as he said, “Yeah, it's pretty easy now.” He stepped inside and even held the door open for Oleander. “I had a lot of practice. Pretty easy stealing shit now from Best Buy. I even got a PS3 last week.”

“You're 'stealing shit from Best Buy' now?” Oleander muttered under his breath, slowly shaking his head. The comment sounded argumentative, and he did not want to start bickering after the progress he made with Bobby. He told himself that stealing was better than fighting and decided to leave the lecture for when he started as an intern, knowing that his attention was needed elsewhere.

What first caught his eye were the holes in the walls. Fist-sized punctures had broken through them. Puffy pink fiberglass poked through. He could have sworn he thought the interior wires sparked a little as he followed Bobby down the rather tight corridor. He couldn't fathom how a single family could live in such a tiny shack of a home, fully understanding why Bobby had the place to himself when he noticed he had to hunch his head forward to avoid his hair scraping against the ceiling with the loose wires slipping down from other holes.

“We're going to my room. That's all,” Bobby said over his shoulder when he noticed Oleander looking back at the two other unopened doors.

Oleander hummed in agreement, but the drops of blood leading between the doors made his heart sink. Glancing back at Bobby, the realization that the green dots on his pants were actually blood had him swallowing back his concerns. The situation was still painfully delicate. He felt like he had to walk on eggshells to keep Bobby from backing out at the last possible second.

Though, Bobby still didn't agree to join the internship program. He was handing it to him on a silver platter, and Bobby was only staring at it. He wasn't even reaching for it anymore. To him, it was a concept that existed for anyone else but him even though he had been the one to ask for it.

Oleander still couldn't understand why. He knew he could help Bobby. He stood up for him, and he took down that cruel girl who had touched him in such a vile manner. The other gang members were witnesses and would probably tell all the others in Drywell that Bobby had someone on his side, and he wasn't going to let them hurt him any longer.

But now, the only one keeping Bobby from the internship was Bobby himself, and Oleander couldn't find a single valid reason why he kept his distance when he asked for help.

“So, Bobby,” he began, sweeping his gaze around the bedroom, “what happened here?”

It looked like a tornado happened right in the center of the room. Clothes were tossed to the floor. Drawers had been ripped out and smashed into pieces on the ground. Video games, CD cases, and VHS tapes were haphazardly scattered around, twisted between fallen bed sheets and blankets. The television, a rather tiny thing compared to the newer models at HQ, had been smashed on top of a collection of video game consoles, bits of glass and metal jabbing out through the sides of the broken box.

Scoffing, Bobby stalked over to his bed and telekinetically pulled out two large duffel bugs from underneath it. “Nothin'. Just, y'know, stress.”

“Because of your father?” Oleander asked, hoping to coax more out of him.

Bobby's fist clenched at his side as he glared back at Oleander. “God, again with the Twenty Questions? I'm packing, ain't I? You don't gotta pry into my goddamn head for all the stupid answers.”

“Well, you-!” Oleander leaned back, drawing his finger back into his palm. Rubbing his neck, he lowered his voice and asked, “Wait, are you really considering the internship this time or are you going to make me think in circles again?”

Bobby groaned through gritted teeth and raked his fingers through his hair. Getting on his knees, he snatched fistfuls of clothing and shoved them into one bag, snapping, “Just-just shut up! Just shut up about that! Tell me about the internship o-or I'm gonna beat you 'til you puke!”

Oleander scoffed and gripped his hips. At least his way of insulting people hadn't changed over the years. It almost sounded comforting hearing him revert back to his way of talking compared to how disparaging he had been towards himself.

He wasn't sure what to grab among his possessions. Bobby seemed to be more focused on clothing, so he telekinetically set a few pairs of wrinkled jeans and shirts on the bed for Bobby to put in his bag. They had various patches on them, but what bothered him were the deep stains around the hems and collars, the dark brown hues too rich to be ordinary dirt.

“So-” Oleander cleared his throat and crouched by the electronics. “-the internship I'm offering you is pretty much the exact same as the one I told you about when you were thirteen. Room and board, meal plan, security for the rest of your life.” He noticed Bobby twitch at that. “You'll be training among the cream of the crop from the other camps. You're more interested in combat, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Bobby sneered, cracking his knuckles.

“Well, you'll be in the standard classes at first. Since you haven't had any proper training in the last few years, you might be overwhelmed by the rigorous sessions. So, I'll-”

Bobby's head snapped over his shoulder with an ugly popping sound. He narrowed his eye and growled, “What's that supposed to mean? You think I ain't good enough to PSI blast somebody's dick off?”

Oleander groaned and tossed another pair of frayed jeans on Bobby's bed. “No, that's not what I meant, and you know it.”

Bobby pursed his lips and threw the jeans to the floor to spite him.

“What I mean is that when you start, I'll put you in the standard training programs. Helps out the cadets who have spent some time away from the Psychonauts re-learn old skills and master new ones before integrating into more specific classes suited for your powers. Remember Elka Doom? She's gonna be in some of those, too, since she took some time away from HQ for personal reasons.” Oleander stepped over Bobby's videos to stand next to him. “Do you understand, son? It's not that I think you aren't capable. I'm putting you in a position so you can be ready for what comes ahead.”

Bobby evened his glare only to drop his head. He itched his scalp and zipped up one of the many flaps of his duffel bag. Oleander sensed something morbid wafting off him, and he hesitantly touched his shoulder only for Bobby to recoil, a yelp escaping from the back of his throat. Oleander pulled back, Bobby leaning away as well, their reactions unexpected to each other as silence filled the bedroom.

“Your shoulder is injured, too?” Oleander asked, and Bobby scoffed, glowering at the coach's boots.

“N-no, no, I just-I just wasn't expecting that,” he said, his voice wavering. Clearing his throat, he hurried to his feet and fixed his jacket, adding, “Whatever. It sounds fine, Coach. Anything else I gotta know?”

Oleander watched Bobby gnaw on the inside of his mouth. He wanted to know more about what had happened to him, but Bobby was like a tempest. Anything could set him off. The slightest upset could make him run away again or throw a punch at Oleander's nose. If he had been trapped in Drywell any longer, Oleander feared the kind of person Bobby would have become if he hadn't made that call.

“Well, you'll also be set up in a department. Think of it like work study.” Oleander brightened, puffing out his chest. “I know a lot of departments that could use some extra help. There's the paperwork department, receptionist's office. Oh, right, the PSI detectives probably need someone to-” Oleander's mouth twisted into a frown the second he heard Bobby sucking down a breath. “Bobby, is there a problem?”

Raising his shoulders in a half-hearted slump, Bobby said, “I dunno. I thought the Psychonauts would've had, uh, cooler departments. You're making it sound like I'd be working in an office building.”

Oleander blinked. Leaning forward, he raised his finger and asked, “You...you know the Psychonauts have offices and departments for different things, right? We aren't just what True Psychic Tales throws out in the monthly comics.”

Bobby's lone eye widened. “They do?”

“Yeah.”

“Aw, shit.” Sighing, he rubbed his neck and shrugged again. “I mean, whatever, fuck, it sounds fine, I guess. Not like I got a choice in the matter.”

He would have said that he did, but Oleander bit his tongue. It sounded like Bobby was willing to go along with the internship. He didn't seem to have any more excuses to not join. Considering he had been packing and seemed willing to even work in a potentially boring office made a grin tug at Oleander's lips.

“What's my room gonna be like?” Bobby suddenly asked, passing Oleander to grab a few more things off the floor. He tucked his CDs in the space between his arm and chest. “Am I gonna dorm with someone?”

“Again, pretty standard. A bit bigger than this one. Air conditioning, a basic TV set, bed, desk, toiletries, and probably some other things I'm forgetting. Since you're applying late, most of the double rooms have been taken, but I can get you in to an emergency single room if that's something you'd prefer,” Oleander said. Bobby gave a quick nod at that, the slightest hint of a smile making its way onto his face.

He tugged a few video game consoles, the reassurance of having a television making him kick his busted one to the side. “Hey, how'd you get so in with these internships? I thought you were in charge of the camps.”

Oleander tugged at his collar, saying, “Well, I am the one recommending the internships to graduating campers.”

He stared down at the coach for a moment only for his cheeks to darken. He should have known that. Oleander had been the one to offer him the internship in the first place, and he shot it down with a laugh and loogie. 

“Lotta luck you had with me, huh?” Bobby grumbled, slouching as he dragged his PS2 over and crammed it into the bag. Wrapping up the wires, he sighed as he stuffed them inside. Taking over his unopened PS3, he weighed it in his hand and added, “Probably could've bought this thing if I took you up on it.”

Oleander watched him itch at his bandages. The adhesive was failing as it started to curl up by his hairline. Asking him if he needed some more, he didn't give Bobby time to answer when his cadet started moaning, his molars grinding together as if it would stop the pain.

Sprinting out of his bedroom, Oleander followed the dried, bloody droplets to the door on the left. The droplets seemed to start from the door on the right as those appeared much larger and seemed to have bled through the door's underside. Confusion filled him as he wondered how Bobby could have lost so much blood. It seemed impossible for a person with an eye injury could have lost that much, but upon closer examination, some droplets seemed older and darker, leaving him to assume that there were more injuries in the past.

Swallowing, he opened the left door and flinched. He found himself in a bathroom right out of a horror movie, so sickening that it made the vegetables in his stomach lurch. The sink was caked with blood. Water slipped down the concave edges and mingled with the rustic stains. The tiles had seen better days, the blue and white patterns tainted with Bobby's blood. Dirty bandages were taped to the walls. Bloody fingerprints smeared down as if Bobby had tried grabbing it to steady himself. The plastic packaging for the gauze had fallen into the toilet, wads of toilet paper also soiled with water and blood.

As the quiet plip plip plip of water trickling from the faucet, Oleander froze. He stared right at the mirror and couldn't make himself out. The shattered fragments threatened to slide out of place. A few of the distorted, cut shards had bits of blue skin trapped in the crevices. With a shaky hand, Oleander reached out and pressed his fingertips against the mirror where the leftover bits of skin remained.

It was like a jolt of lightning had shot through his entire body. He shuddered, his glass eye rattling in his skull. Sucking down a sharp breath, Oleander felt the air escape through the spaces in his teeth, and all he could do was cover his right eye as pain stabbed through his iris.

There were times when Oleander wished he wasn't as empathic. When he was a boy, sensing the agony his bunnies endured filled him with such dread, as if he was being swallowed up by despair. He felt every bit of flesh lumped off and cut, slabs of meat for the slaughter, and when he saw Bobby, he realized it was the exact same thing.

He saw him hunched over the mirror, his hands fumbling as he tried uncapping a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Shrieks escaped him, raw and unfiltered as he dumped the bottle over his injured eye. He twitched and trembled, his left hand spasming as the solution seared his eye. He chucked the bottle over his shoulder, moaning so terribly that it reminded Oleander of a dying animal as he pulled back his eyelids, that once green eye squinted and filled with blood, the white sclera gray and puffy.

Bobby ripped open a cupboard and tore out the gauze pads. It bounced off the sink and into the toilet, and his frenetic movements had Oleander quaking in his boots. Bobby screamed and cried, his mouth twisting and teeth gnashing as he slapped the pad over his eye, another wail freeing itself from the back of his throat. He cradled his face, rocking back and forth on his heels as he tried steadying the pad, but it wouldn't fit, forcing him to snatch a roll of bandages left on the floor. Tearing them off with his teeth, he smacked the bandages over the pad, crying out each time his hand came in contact with the pad.

But blood stilled rolled down his cheek. He truly was a dying animal, close to being roadkill. He stared at himself, crooning and squeaking until his expression scrunched when he caught sight of his dismal face. With a roar, he smashed his fist through the mirror shattering the vision, and Oleander was brought right back to reality.

All he could do was look ahead. His heart thundered in his chest, and sweat clung to his brow. Taking in shaky breaths, Oleander cupped his eye. He circled the skin around his tear ducts and tried controlling his breathing. Oleander traced the hints of bags underneath them, the sounds of Bobby zipping up his duffel bags sounding far off in the distance.

“Okay, I'm ready to ditch this place!” Bobby called, a bit of humor in his tone. “Hey, Coach, what's takin' ya? Didn't know it took you that long to piss!” He snickered. “Oh, yeah, Classic Zilch.”

He didn't answer. He almost didn't want to reply to such a juvenile jab. There wasn't any reason for him to be joking when he had been fixing such a painful injury earlier in the day. It could have easily gotten infected. If he hadn't called Oleander, then Bobby could have lost his eye,and that joke made his heart pound faster as the horrors of the Drywell truly settled on Oleander.

Hearing Bobby's footsteps come closer, Oleander stepped out of the bathroom. The wood creaked underneath him, silenced when his back hit the wall. Bobby's shadow crossed over him, holding a duffel bag in each hand. Bobby had a laptop bag looped over his shoulder, and it nudged Oleander's shoulder. Bobby asked why he was standing there only to gasp when he made the connection, his gaze fell on the bathroom.

“It-it's nothing, okay? Sheesh, you look like you're gonna wet yourself,” he said, sighing when Oleander remained silent. “Come on, Coach, it ain't-”

“Will you shut up about how it isn't that bad?” Oleander bellowed, cutting right through Bobby's meandering comments. He threw his hand out to the bathroom, his head twisting from side to side. “You didn't tell me you were enduring something like this! I can take down some girl and her posse with ease, but something like this? Something where you're alone crying in the bathroom trying to fix your eye? You should've told me about it!”

“Wh-what? How did you-? I mean-! H-hey, hey, I said-!” Bobby's brows knit together, and his grip tightened around his duffel bags. “Just drop it, okay? I already said that I'm leaving! Ya got what ya wanted!”

“No! No, no, that's not good enough for me!” He jabbed his finger towards Bobby's eye, the taller cadet quickly jerking back. “How did your father come to hurt you like that? Tell me exactly what happened!”

“I-i-i-it's nothing! I keep tellin ya it's nothing, and you keep bitching at me!” Bobby slammed the duffel bags to the ground, one of the zippers pulling back and causing some items to fall out. He rubbed his hands together, the bones in his thumbs popping as he advanced on Oleander. “Back off already! Ain't like you gave a shit about me for the past four years!” He hunched forward, digging his fist into his own chest. “Who the hell said you could try and act like a good coach all of a sudden anyway? Actin' like a tough guy and marching all up and down fuckin' Denny's like you own the place? Where the hell was that when I actually needed it?”

As if he wasn't already filled with regret. He truly thought Bobby wanted nothing to do with the Psychonauts, so he stayed away. Milla made an effort, but her calls were never returned, and like the others, she assumed he was doing fine. Neither of them reached out until Bobby finally broke for reasons that made Oleander's head spin, and he wanted to scream at his past self for not intervening sooner.

He felt like he abandoned Bobby. He left his soldier on the battlefield while the mines were bursting all around him, filling the sky with clumps of dirt, smog, and blood.

“Got nothin' to say?” Bobby snapped. When Oleander clenched his fist and glared at the door on the right, he snatched his belongings. “That's what I thought. Let's go already. Pissin' me off, you-”

“It happened in there, didn't it?”

Bobby drew back as if someone had punched him. He uttered a dumbfounded squawk, his mouth falling open wide.

“In that room on the right, the one you don't want me going in, it happened in there.” Oleander pressed his hand on the door. “I can feel it. What happened? What did he do to you in there?”

“Y-you, you, I'm telling you it's nothing,” Bobby said through gritted teeth. His fists shook at his sides, but he had to stop and hold his injured eye. Sucking down a sharp breath, he snarled that he rather be in juvie than talking with Oleander.

“So, if I open this door...” He narrowed his good eye at him. “...am I going to find nothing? Is there really nothing in there?”

Bobby tugged at the bandages and forced them to stick to his sweaty brow. His chest seemed to heave under his jersey as if he repressing himself from either talking or vomiting. He tried swallowing, but his throat felt clogged. Digging his grip into the swollen skin poking through the bandages, he glared at the floor as Oleander opened the door.

He felt like he walked into another horror movie. More fist-sized holes had been punctured through the floor and walls. Charred wood scorched parts of the nearest wall. An oak table was broken right in half as if someone had been thrown on it. A leather arm chair had seen better days, the material hacked to pieces, and to his bewilderment, there were cigarette butts stuffed through the springs and coils which speared through the seat cushion.

But those bits of scenery were distractions. He followed the bloody droplets to the center of the room. They quickly became crimson splatter paintings across the shag carpet, couch, and walls. He couldn't tell which were fresh, but he was compelled to storm forward as Bobby hesitated in the doorway, his shaky fingers gripping his scarred forearms.

He found himself glaring down at the largest blot of blood. It was like someone had left a pen on the ground, allowing the scarlet ink to accumulate. Though, as he inspected it, the blot reminded him more a paint can which had overflown and spread. Kneeling by the blood, Oleander rolled his shoulders back, ignored the faint pain in his bones, and after tugging up his glove, he pressed his palm through the still wet liquid.

Immediately, he was hit with an agony he hadn't felt since he was a child. It was a searing, electrifying pain which knifed through his skull. He even had to bite back a scream from the agony stabbing through his right eye and all the way to his brain.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw exactly what happened.

Whimpering, Bobby turned around when his name was called, and the belt buckle careened into his eye. The sharp metal cut through his sclera, blood forming like tears in his eye. The pain was instantaneous, his body refusing to go into shock as his hands flung to his eye. A scream retched out from the bottom of his lungs. He lost his footing, slamming into the table, and it cracked underneath him, the table legs breaking in half as he plummeted through. He thrashed and kicked, his own screams met with accusations as the looming beast of his father hovered over him, cracking his belt at the spots where Bobby flailed.

“You fuckin' stole it, didn't ya? Didn't ya? Don't you go an' lie to my face! I can smell liars!” his father roared, his dark green eyes narrowed on his sobbing son. He was a hulking mess of a man whose breath reeked of alcohol. Stains collected on his wife beater, and the dirt on his jeans seemed like they had been caked there for months. He slammed his foot into the ground, matching the beat of his belt smacking the floor as he bellowed, “I know you, boy! I know what you psychics are like! Always stealin', always makin' up lies, always up to no good!”

“My eye! My fucking eye! I-I-I can't see!” Bobby howled only to cry out again as the belt slammed down onto his shoulder.

“Shut up! You don't get to to cry when I want answers!” His lips stretched into a sneer, showing off yellow teeth. “Did you go an' steal from the damn Best Buy again? Is that why the cops keep comin' here, you fucking freak of a boy?”

“N-no, no! I didn't do nothin', I swear!” Bobby clawed at his face, writhing on his stomach. He crooned, blood dribbling down his freckled cheek and leaking over his lips. He pawed at his face like some kind of prey, the predatory animal licking his lips above him. Sniffling, he whimpered, “Please, please, I didn't do it. I didn't do it, Dad.”

And down the belt rained another blow to Bobby's head, but it was caught in his hair. Scowling, his father ripped it out along with a clump of curls. His father rolled the belt around his arm, breathing heavily through his mouth as he glared at the hallway, Oleander following his gaze in stunned silence.

“You see this? They're gonna call social services again! Those fuckin' parole bastards, always comin' here because of this no good boy we got!” his father snarled, Bobby's sobs echoing like a baby left alone in the dark.

His mother was either fat or a few months along. She leaned in the doorway, her long, flowing orange hair reaching down to mid-back. She had her son's skin color, Oleander realized, her brown eyes listless as they fell on Bobby. She itched her neck, which formed a double chin when she bowed her head, and all she did was shrug her shoulders.

“What do you want me to say, darling? It's not my fault he's like that,” she said, her voice somehow airy and husky at the same time. “Aren't the psychics on your side?”

“No, you dumb bitch! You said you had a great uncle who was a psychic, remember? It's from your side, idiot!” He unrolled the belt and smacked it to the floor again.

“Yeah, but...aren't the genes too far away from me? I mean, are you sure there isn't anyone in your-?”

But his mother was silenced by a fist to her mouth, and down she fell. She didn't even scream. She simply rubbed her jaw, her eyes seeming to roll in her skull. Shaking her head, his mother smiled at her husband and giggled.

“No, you're right. Definitely from my side, my fault,” she said, and he grinned as if he hadn't assaulted her.

“That's right, there we go. That's what I like to hear, darling,” he said, pulling her to her feet. He leered back at Bobby, wrapping his arm around his wife's waist, saying, “As for you, keep fuckin' crying, and I'll do it again.”

Bobby stifled his sobs, his chest heaving as if he would vomit. He cradled his face, trapped on his stomach and knees. His face pressed into the ground right in front of Oleander, the blood spreading out more quickly than he could process.

“When the cops come, you better confess. Better say it was all you, not us. We don't want any more fuckin' child protective services on our ass because of you,” his father jeered, his lips curling upwards. “Another thing, you little freak. Clean yourself up. I don't want the, heh, neighbors calling on us.”

“Not like they will, darling,” his wife piped up.

“That's the joke, dear, that's the joke,” he said as if he was talking to a small child.

Bobby managed to raise his head, his eye already swelling from what Oleander could see. His eyelids dropped over, the gash cutting through his skin. Misery exuded off him, but it was charged with rage as his parents laughed in saccharine tones. He struggled to sit up, grabbing at his face, and through blood and tears, he cried, “How the fuck can you two laugh at me?”

His weary voice brought out another guffaw from his father. He shook his head and sneered, “Oh, boy, you are somethin'. Can't wait 'til you're old enough for us to legally kick out. You'd be better on the streets than living with us, right?”

“Hehehe, if he joined the Psychonauts, he'd be out of our lives a lot sooner,” his mother added, and his father nodded, humming in agreement.

“Too bad that shithead fucked that all up, too!”

And they laughed and laughed, howling until their voices were hoarse. To them, he really was their plaything. Even though all of Drywell claimed him as their victim, they had special privileges. They were his parents. They had first dibs on the resident freak who lived under their roof, and when he disobeyed or brought trouble to their “happy home,” his father had every right to maim him.

Oleander squirmed, his body hot and sweaty as he stared at the dismal blankness filling Bobby's face. He saw himself in that face. Those wide eyes filled with tears and confusion, he had that same gaze throughout his childhood. The blood dribbling out of his tear ducts reminded him of those little bunnies as they lay dead on the counter, and in a split second, he could have sworn he saw Bobby on that same counter, his father and mother holding cleavers above his carcass.

“My mom's ten years younger than my dad.”

And just like that, Oleander snapped out of his trance. He jerked his head over his shoulder, finding Bobby leaning in the doorway just like his mother. He inspected his nails, some of them bitten down so far that dried blood crusted over.

“Got knocked up at fifteen with me, and three years later, they got hitched. I was their ring boy or whatever,” Bobby said, shrugging. “It wasn't always like this. It got bad when they realized I was psychic.” He looked back at the spot where he had laid and bled. “I was six. The old fucker and I were playing catch, and the hag was filming outside. Can you believe that? Playin' fucking catch like we're some normal family.” He closed his eye and rubbed his jaw. “He threw the ball above my head, so I had to go after it. I was happy. I was too happy.” He pressed his head to the door frame and sighed. “I-I was on a levitation ball. Just appeared under my feet when I ran, and all I knew was that I was so much faster. I got the football, and my parents started screaming at me to get in the trailer before anyone saw me. After that, they just fuckin' hated me.”

Oleander breathed out his name and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Remember that pamphlet you wrote? 'Your mother is afraid of you, and your father looks at you with shame in his eyes.'” Bobby itched his gauze pad. “Really hit home, Coach. Really fuckin' did.”

If he had felt guilty before, the pain amplified it. His own eye stung, and he felt like he could have collapsed. Rubbing his hands across his neck, Oleander swallowed and stood up, his knees knocking as Bobby stared down at him, his features perfectly neutral.

“Another thing, Coach,” he said, shoving his hands into his pocket, “you wanna know how I found your number?”

“How?” Oleander quietly asked.

“After they left for their night jobs and after I fixed myself up, I trashed my room. Got so friggin' mad I destroyed everything in there.” Bobby turned around and bent over, snatching something which had fallen out of his duffel bag. “I found this in wreckage. 2004 was a helluva year, huh?”

The spiral scrapbook had seen better days. Tiny drops of blood stained the cover picture of Whispering Rock's class of 2004. Bobby turned it over in his hands and thumbed through the pages, pausing on a few photographs of him and Chloe only to sigh and continue flipping. Reaching the last page, he folded the back cover and showed Oleander the collection of phone numbers written in faded ink, the coach quickly noticing his own number.

“So, I gave you a call. Figured I might as well or I'll be homeless after I graduate high school,” Bobby said, closing the scrapbook and throwing it back at his duffel bag. “Kinda like a last choice. I didn't wanna sound like I was crawling back to the Psychonauts, but hell, I dunno. I thought you'd hang up on me as soon as you realized it was me after I, y'know, chewed you out after you offered me that internship.”

“No, no, I-I'd never do that, not when you need me,” Oleander said, a bit breathless from his ordeal. He rubbed his right eye and shuddered from head to toe. “I'm glad, I'm so glad you called me. I just wish I got you out of here the moment I sensed something was wrong with your parents.”

Bobby sighed. “Knew I shouldn't have took off my fuckin' glasses when we were arguing. Would've had some protection. I-!”

Doors slammed outside, and Bobby visibly bristled. The color drained from his face. His hand shot over his eye, a mewling sound creeping past his lips.

“What the-? No, no, they shouldn't be home yet. They still got a few more hours at the bar,” he whispered, rubbing the skin on his neck up and down. “Did they forget something? Did Marianne call them and tell 'em?”

“Can't believe you left the wallet at home, babe!”

“Sorry, darling! You know Bobby. He gets me so upset sometimes that I just forget.”

“Aw, it's fine, honey. I know you're not that smart. We'll just grab it and head back out, okay?”

“Okay, darling!”

Those voices made Bobby utter squeaks. He clasped his hand over his mouth, slowly shaking his head from side to side. He kept swallowing, his lone eye too wide, his pupil dilated to a point where Oleander couldn't even see it.

“Your parents are outside?” Oleander asked, raising his hands. Footsteps stomped outside, and he caught sight of wavy orange hair flowing past the window. Scowling, he clenched his fists, his glove smeared with Bobby's blood and stormed towards the front door.

“H-hey, where are ya goin'?” Bobby squeaked, backing up in the hallway.

“I'm gonna give them a piece of my mind,” Oleander growled, and he didn't give Bobby a chance to answer as he stormed outside.

As Bobby's parents were about the enter their trailer, the front door of the shack slamming open startled them. His mother yelped and clung to her husband's arm. His father stared wide-eyed at Oleander, dumbfounded at his presence as the coach glared up at them. Their truck was still running, exhaust smoking out and creating a black cloud behind it, which made Oleander's nose wrinkle.

“What did you two do him for the past decade? How could you treat your only child like that?” he demanded, Bobby's father gasping.

“Wh-what the-? What are you doin' here? You ain't a parole officer,” he sputtered, and Oleander spat at the ground.

“Don't you recognize me? I met you all right here a decade ago to talk to Bobby about Whispering Rock,” he said, Bobby hesitantly appearing in the doorway behind him. Gripping his hips, his lips curled as he snarled, “Now, you folks are gonna explain yourselves to me or I'm going to show you how dangerous a Psychonaut can be!”

His mother threw her arms around her husband's neck, crying, “Bobby! Bobby, why would you bring a Psychonaut here? Why would you bring him to our happy home?”

Bobby's shoulders hitched upwards, and he choked down a yelp. Shaking his head, he blurted, “It ain't-! It ain't like that! I didn't do anything, I swear!”

His father leveled his glare at Oleander. He picked at a pimple on his chin and said, “I don't have to give anything to you, shrimp. You're another psychic, another no good bastard in the world.” Raising his head, he narrowed his eyes at Bobby, who fidgeted under his glower. “And you, what the hell did you do this time? You got the Psychonauts on your ass, too?”

The commotion attracted outsiders like flies to dung. Wanderers ambled their way, the tension in the air making Oleander deepen his scowl. He heard them mumbling drunken whispers to the night sky. All of them with their engorged veins and glassy eyes, all of them more likely than not having a weapon on them, all of them focusing on Bobby and himself, it made his skin crawl and blood pressure rise to a level he didn't know possible.

“Bobby, don't answer him. Let me handle this,” Oleander ordered when he started sputtering. He flicked his fingers, gesturing for him to stand down.

“You tellin' him to be disobedient?” Bobby's father spat out a harsh laugh. “He's done that every damn day of his life. You don't need to tell him how to be a worthless bitch.”

Bobby rubbed his forearms again and rolled the loose threads between his fingers. He didn't meet his father's gaze, the ground much more alluring in comparison. His entire frame trembled as his father cackled in a way Marianne had, the laughter becoming more cacophonous as other Drywell denizens added to his mocking chorus.

“Aw, what's the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue?” Scoffing, he shook his head and leered back at Oleander. “As for you, what do you think you're doing here? You already had your shot with him. Ain't like you're his dad.” He spat out a laugh. “That's my job here! I got one more year with him, y'know?” He grinned back at Bobby who hugged himself tighter, his knuckles burning white. “One more year ‘til I can finally kick him out on the streets.”

“You listen up!” Oleander bellowed, overpowering his jeering. “You think I'm going to stand here and listen to you berate your son?” He set his fingers to his temple and clawed the air with his other hand, summoning his telekinetic hand to snatch Bobby's dad by his ankle, shouting, “Then you must be crazier than I was!” 

“What the-? H-hey! Hey! Put me down! Put me down!” he cried, clawing at the air as if he could fight back.

“I’ll put you down, I’ll put you down like the trash that you are,” Oleander seethed. He waved him around like a pendulum, the same belt he had used to assault Bobby slipping off and into his wife's arms. Oleander flipped him around, his bones popping and joints dislocating as he thrust him high above the heads of the baffled crowd. As he shrieked and flailed his arms, Oleander slammed his hand onto the ground right in front of his wife, silencing his wails when his head smashed through the dirt. Heaving out a breath, he hissed, “You're never going to hurt him again.”

His body arched awkwardly. His legs were bent too far out, sticking his gut into the air. His fingers twitched as he pawed at the limp grass. As his wife cried out his name, he collapsed, and his head popped up, the blood leaking down on his now crooked nose a sight that made Oleander smirk.

Wiping his hands, Oleander said, “The trash has been taken out.”

Bobby couldn't fix his slackened jaw. His mother matched his expression. Along with the crowd, they were transfixed on the still body of Bobby's father. While his chest moved steadily, the other parts of him known to lash out were stiff. The hands used to beat them were open. His weapons had fallen, cast aside. He couldn't even use his words to whip either of them. 

Bobby covered his mouth with shaking fingers. The heavy years he had spent under his father's control felt like they had finally slipped off his shoulders. He couldn't stop his knocking knees. He barely found the strength to keep standing as his mother dragged her wide-eyed gaze to him. Blood pounded in his ears, and his heart rattled in his chest, leaving him a state of a shock that he couldn't come out of even when Oleander touched his hand.

“Come on, son. Let's get you out of here,” he said, wrapping his fingers around his bandages which he realized felt faintly warm.

Bobby didn't move. His expression remained the same. His grasp tightening around his face and dug into his cheeks, pushing up his glasses and making them uneven when they slid back down.

Something shuffled behind him. Oleander was quick pivot on his heels and raise a shield around them. The spikes penetrated outwards, preventing his mother from reaching them. She stared at them almost like a lost child, her pupils too large to be considered normal. Her head tilted to the side, and she set her hand on the shield, tapping it and mumbling that it felt like electricity.

“What the hell?” Oleander whispered as she continued poking it. “Hey, Bobby, is-is something wrong with her? That...doesn't seem like a normal reaction.”

His mother tucked her long hair behind her ears, which Oleander noticed seem to stick out. She twisted a few strands in her freckled hands, and she lifted her head to stare right at Bobby. Letting her hands fall to her waist, she rubbed the shield again, her face whiter than a sheet of computer paper.

Oleander wasn't sure if the shield was necessary. She seemed to be completely out of it. It wasn't like she could attack them, so he retracted the shield back into himself. If she tried anything, he told himself that he could take her down like he had done to her husband.

She uttered a little sound, one Oleander couldn't place. She cocked her head and pursed her lips. Her fingers fidgeted as if she was playing an invisible piano. She straightened her slouch, and when Bobby took a step backwards to the stoop, Oleander wasn't fast enough.

Her hands snatched Bobby's throat and squeezed, encouraged by the jeers of the crowd. Her nails dug into him, cutting off his oxygen and springing forth a strangled gasp past his lips. He managed to grab her wrists, but even though he was taller and stronger, he couldn't pry her off. Like some kind of beast, she looked like she was going to kill her own son until Oleander rammed his knuckles into her stomach, forcing her to release him. Yelping, she stumbled backwards and almost tripped. She groped her belly, panting as she explored the skin under her shirt, ignoring Oleander as he commanded her to get back.

“Bobby! Bobby, you okay?” Oleander blurted, Bobby massaging his neck.

“Peachy,” he croaked, closing his eyes. “Don't worry. I'm used to it.”

His heart sunk again. “You’re what?”

Bobby flicked his chin up, narrowing his good eye on his mother as he demanded, “You got something you wanna say or you wanna strangle me again?”

She quivered as if she would fall over like a delicate flower under the pelting rain. “Why are you always causing me so much trouble?” his mother asked, her tone painfully even. She hiccuped, tears welling in her eyes as she dragged her finger up to point at his nose. “Everything about you always caused me trouble. We were happy here. We had a happy home with you for a bit. Darling and I were happy, but you had to be psychic. Psychics are bad luck, you know? Your dad always said that, and he's always right.” She narrowed her eyes, forming creases at the corners. “You ruined everything for me. You just had to ruin my happy home.”

“Sorry you got knocked up with me,” Bobby hissed, rubbing his neck and blinking away the small tears in his good eye.

His mother sighed. She tugged down her shirt as others hurried around her. They asked if she was okay, reassuring her that it wasn't her fault, and she smiled at them. Over her shoulder as she was guided to her husband, she called, “Yeah. I guess you should regret being born.” She patted her stomach and giggled like a little girl. “Though, it's okay. You'll be leaving now, so I can have my happy home again, and he won’t be mad at me ever again.”

Oleander flinched, her words somehow sharper than anything than her husband had said or done. “That's-that's-! How dare you-?”

“Coach, let's go, I got things to do. Ain’t like she’s gonna give a better answer than that,” Bobby said, threading his fingers through his hair. He fixed the strap to his laptop bag around his shoulder, and he snatched his duffel bags left behind him. With a hop off the stoop, he didn't give Oleander a chance to retort as he parted through the crowd, ignoring them with his head held high.

“He's finally leaving?”

“Well, fuck, that's a shame. He was so much fun.”

“He'll be back by the end of the week, I bet.”

“Not like he's good for anything.”

“Just another dirty psychic.”

“Ignore 'em,” Bobby ordered when Oleander raised his fist at them, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “I got one thing I wanna do before we go.”

“And what's that?” Oleander asked, but Bobby didn't answer, his expression as blank as his mother's before she pounced.

Questions bubbled in his throat and refused to stay put. Oleander demanded to know what he was planning and how he was feeling, his thoughts already turning to the worst possible combination of ideas. Bobby told him not to worry, that it wouldn't take too long as they trekked back the way they came. Oleander itched his scalp underneath his helmet and urged Bobby to tell him what he wanted, but the playful note in Bobby's voice served to unnerve him even more.

No one should have been happy in that moment. No one normal should have been amused after being assaulted by their own mother. Whatever trauma he faced seemed like it had been normalized. For years, he faced abuse Oleander saw in horror movies, and he acted like it hadn't affected him even when he wiped his eyes.

They came back to the Denny's much to Oleander's surprise. The rubble was still present after Marianne had been smashed through the wall. The front sign still flickered, but the interior lights were off. Oleander assumed everyone had gone home after what had happened earlier, and he watched Bobby sling off his laptop bag, dropping it on top of his duffel bags. Listening to him crack his knuckles, he slowly asked what he was doing.

Bobby flashed a bright, toothy grin, one Oleander thought impossible on his face if he were younger. He stepped forward and set one finger to his temple, leaning back to put all of his weight on his left leg. Turning over his right hand, Bobby couldn't stop smiling as Oleander quickly realized his intentions, and Bobby knew the coach was much too late to stop him.

The air crackled, and heat surged around them. Oleander only had time to bring up a shield around themselves as the inside of Denny's exploded. Debris burst through the walls and slammed around them as the fire claimed everything. With nothing to stop the flames, they spread too quickly, and the sheer force of the fire cracked through the windows like the nightmares they had both seen in Milla's mind. Smoke lapped at the flames, escaping through the broken windows and rubble, free to spread like the flames which consumed everything inside and made its way to devouring the crumbling roof.

_He set the fucking Denny's on fire,_ Oleander thought as the smoke surged upwards like a mushroom cloud.

Bobby marveled at his handiwork. He threw his arms back and laughed at the top of his lungs. All of his frustration, all of his pent-up rage, countless years of being tormented, those feelings burned down the establishment. He felt like he had finally gotten everything he wanted as terrified roars from other trailers were carried by the wind to his ears, the sounds of calamity finally hitting Drywell, Missouri because of Bobby Zilch.

“Now, that's one way to leave a mark,” Bobby sneered, telekinetically collecting his bags. Setting his hand out, he danced in place, chanting, “Eh, eh eh, eh eh eh eh!”

Oleander looked between him and fire before deciding that setting his face in his hands was the best course of action.

“Hey, Coach, it ain't too bad! It's just a Denny's! Nothing's good at Denny's! That's why it's the only eatery in Drywell!” Bobby jeered, punching the air, the fires casting a long shadow across him.

“I can't believe you set it on fire. You might be worse than Lili,” Oleander deadpanned, his voice muffled by his hands.

Bobby cracked his knuckles and sneered, “I've had a long day, okay? I can't even have a little fun after all that shit the hag and the old fucker pulled?”

Oleander dropped his hands and opened his mouth before promptly closing it. He pinched his fingers together, the crackling fire sending embers at their feet. Taking a breath, he clapped his hands together and leaned forward, saying, “Just promise me you aren't going to do anything like that at HQ or they're going to have our asses on platters, and let me see your hands when you swear it.”

Bobby raised them both in front of him, saying, “Yeah, yeah, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a belt buckle in my eye.”

“Bobby Zilch!”

Cackling, Bobby threw his head back only to grimace. He slipped off his glasses and rubbed his injured eye. He almost forgot about the pain, too engrossed in his delight to acknowledge it. Heaving a sigh, he pushed his glasses back on his face and looked down at Oleander, tilting his head.

“Hey, why'd you do all that for me anyway?” Bobby wondered. “You feel guilty or somethin'?”

A part of Oleander wanted to say yes. Of course he felt guilty. He felt like he should have suspected what had been happening much sooner. If he had taken action right away, then maybe Bobby would have become an entirely different person. He wouldn't have to be harsh or cruel, pretending to enrich himself by harming kids who wanted to be his friend or enduring what others forced upon him in the private safety of their trailer park.

Bobby was his greatest mistake. He was one of his best cadets, a real champion among the campers for all the wrong reasons. He let the years slip by without checking in on him, and in those years, he almost didn't want to know the full extent of how Drywell treated him.

Oleander breathed out slowly. He found himself gazing at the fire, scrambling people in the distance shouting for help that no one was willing to give. He noticed Bobby follow his gaze, both of them watching the Denny's falling to fiery pieces, and he said, “I should have helped you years ago.”

“Not like you knew. Didn't tell no one about it,” Bobby said, crossing his arms. “Chloe always asked, but I didn't wanna weigh her down with my shit. She had dreams beyond anything I could even think of.” He closed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Hey, Coach, level with me. How is Chloe? Is she doing okay?”

“She has some problems at home. Mostly stems from her mom doing things behind her back thinking she's doing what's best for her-”

“Like sending that fucking letter.”

“-and Chloe misses you a lot more than you realize.”

Bobby shuddered despite the searing warmth around them. He tensed and found Oleander's attention fixed him out of the corner of his good eye. Tightening his grip around the laptop strap, he chewed on the inside of his mouth and stared at the flames once more.

“She's an Aura Wrangler now. Jumped a rank this past summer,” Oleander recalled, “and I handed her the certificate myself.”

“Really? I'm glad. She got there before I did.” Bobby shrugged and turned to face Oleander, his cheeks darkening, the flames illuminating his voluminous hair. “Um, so, uh, thanks, Coach. You really, uh, helped, I guess.”

Chuckling, Oleander set his knuckles to his hips. “You're welcome. I appreciate the lack of sarcasm.”

“I mean, well, I mean...” Bobby cleared his throat. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Look, I ain't a good person. You've seen all this shit in Drywell. Doesn't mean I'm gonna do a 180 and flip my entire personality to suit a 'oh, look everyone, Bobby Zilch is a good, law-abiding intern now.'” He gestured at the burning Denny's. “Fuck, I set that on fire the moment I got free of this hellhole. Can't even imagine what I'm gonna do at HQ the second I get pissed. I'm probably gonna punch a damn wall again.”

“That's why I'm gonna get a punching bag in your room the moment we get there,” Oleander said, snickering. As Bobby's mouth quirked upwards, he sighed and patted his back. “Look, Bobby, you're talking to the Psychonaut who was put on probation for trying to conquer the world with a bunch of adolescent brains. I get it more than you think I do.” He tapped his head. “Think about it. We're like two peas in a pod, you and I, and I'm not going to leave you alone this time. I'm gonna make sure you get everything you need, you hear me, soldier? Things are going to be better, and if they're not...” He gripped Bobby's elbow and gently squeezed it. “...I'm here for you, and I'm going to make everything right.”

Bobby flinched. He drew back, stricken as if someone knifed him in the chest. His mind couldn't fully process such kind words. Anytime anyone said anything similar to that, it was to mess with him. It was Marianne's go-to tactic, after all.

But when he scrutinized Oleander, those words held an entirely different meaning. They carried a genuine quality to them that Bobby hadn't heard since Whispering Rock. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and puffed out a quiet laugh. Being one of the kidnapped kids in Oleander's scheme had left him very, very wary of the coach, but as Oleander grinned up at him, he found himself smirking back at him.

For the first time in four years, Bobby was hopeful. He felt like he was back in summer camp when he had promise. Being at Whispering Rock was the happiest time of his life. He'd never admit it, certainly not to any of the campers, but that last summer with Chloe and the rest of them, even if he had been wretched to the others, he was at his peak, his prime, having the time of his life watching the stars with her and planning for the future.

And now, Oleander said he could get it back. Even though he had isolated himself, even though he had let the people of Drywell torment him because he was a broken, friendless mess of a human being, Oleander wanted to help him. He could move on from Drywell despite the fear plaguing his chest and the pain twinging in his eye. He knew he'd ruin something with the internship, but unlike his younger self who laughed and ran away from the Psychonauts, he had more than one chance to put his life back on the right track. Bobby knew he'd lose a few of those chances, but the fact that those chances existed made him feel like dropping to his knees and crying for all the years he wasted. Having opportunities that he had once spurned made him feel like he could almost move on from the past four years, and Bobby swallowed down his self-pity as Oleander grinned up at him.

“Alright, alright, let's get goin' before I regret this,” Bobby said, shaking off Oleander's grip.

As the alarms of fire trucks blared in the distance, their red lights flashing in the night, Oleander chuckled and replied, “Oh, trust me, Bobby. You won't regret this at all. I'll make sure of it.”

He didn't waste anymore time. Before Bobby could say anything else, he grabbed his hand and set his fingers to his temple. Closing his eyes, he felt Bobby squeeze his hand and teleported them both back to headquarters.

(While Bobby lay in his bed, his dorm room sterile and clean, his bags unpacked, Oleander busy in his office finalizing his internship with Hollis, he pulled out the old friendship bracelet Chloe made for him from his hair and smiled for the first time in years.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and finished!! i wanted to focus a bit more on the age differences and power imbalances in bobby's life and how badly it affects him, but i hit what i wanted to do so i ended it there. i might come back to this idea and write about bobby's first week at the internship (does it go well? it's fifty-fifty of him actually trying not to lose it because he can't go home and wants to make something of himself and then subsequently losing it because of Bad Mental Health and his own personality making it hard for him to be a Decent Person without lashing out at anyone who criticizes him). anyway, thanks for reading!!!
> 
> bobby, setting denny's on fire: now this is what i call a real grand slam coach :)  
oleander: (breaking bad guy scream)

**Author's Note:**

> oleander: do you see me as a father figure zilch?  
bobby: NO i see you as a bother figure because you always bother me.  
oleander: do you wanna talk about it later over a game of catch?  
bobby:...i'd like that.
> 
> so, here's this short fic! gonna be three chapters long, the second chapter probably being the longest since that's when oleander and bobby get to sit down in denny's and talk about the hellhole bobby has put himself in. just a speckle of ocs in here, including bobby's parents in the last chapter and a former gang member who doubled as bobby's second in command of his gang, and some members of the gang who wanna do bad things when bobby's about to Lose It, all of those ocs appearing in the second chapter. the gist is that oleander is gonna help bobby try to move on from drywell, but even though bobby's made a step outside, he's like "maybe i should go home" and oleander will telekinetically drag him by his leg back to hq while he screams if he has to in order for bobby to start making better decisions.
> 
> this kind of started out as a joke idea i had about oleander adopting the kids with shitty parents. stepsibling au where oleander adopts bobby, crystal, and milka, and he helps them cope from their bad parents.
> 
> also i know there's the whole "fight me behind denny's" joke, but bobby probably has fought people behind denny's, and in a crappy town like drywell, that's probably all they got for fine dining.


End file.
